Sign of the Maker
by Malhann Hawke
Summary: Sebastian Vael cannot ignore the good work being done by Anders in Darktown, but he can no more ignore the dark clouds forming over Kirkwall. Can he save the mage's soul before it's too late? M!Hawke/Anders Focus is on Sebastian and Anders plus Alistair!
1. Chapter 1

"Maker, hear me."

A soft, lilting brogue, rising gently from the central mezzanine of Kirkwall's chantry, caused Grand Cleric Elthina to pause her steps and turn. She let her eyes move sadly toward the kneeling boy she had raised as her own; the boy who was now a man, she reminded herself with a soft shake of her head. Sebastian seemed to spend so many hours on his knees these days that she wondered how he was able to keep up with the lifestyle Cortland Hawke's companionship demanded of him. When would the lad see that his service to the Maker shone through in his every action, his every word? Elthina knew as well as anyone that a holy duty can take many forms and, for someone such as the Vael Prince, that duty could be performed as admirably on his feet as on his knees.

But he would not hear her.

He had ever been a stubborn child. At the whim of the winds of change, but ready to fling himself body and soul in whichever direction they took him. She prayed each day that the winds tearing at the Prince's heart would one day settle on a direction and offer him some peace at last. For now, she could only watch over him; ready for those times when he would ask her for guidance. With a fond smile, she turned away and left the man to his privacy.

"Maker, hear me."

Sebastian's lips formed silent words as they brushed the knuckles of his hands. Once, he would pray with his hands open, fingers reaching upward as if they could channel the Maker's very light. But today his fingers laced over clenched fists, their tips creating pools of whitened skin with the strength of his clasp. "I know that in the past I have asked you selfish questions. I have sought selfish answers. Now, I look to you to give me the strength to save someone other than myself." Sebastian's eyelashes rested on his cheeks as his eyes closed and his frown deepened. His strong brow furrowed and he let it fall to rest on those hands as he spoke to the chantry floor with a strained whisper.

"Maybe many people. I – I don't know."

With a twitch of his jaw, the Prince dug his elbows deeper into his raised knee, his forehead pressing ever stronger downward onto his hands.

"Maker, I am lost and I look to you to guide me. This city's heartbeat is quickening, and my ears hear it so loudly it deafens me. I know that the mage, Anders, lies at the heart of something. His soul is dark, and yet…yet he does not seem to be an evil man. The wrongs done to him are real. His good intentions are real. He has saved more people in a matter of years than I have in a lifetime. So why does he scare me so much? Why do I feel in my bones that he himself must be saved? When I was unsure of my path, you sent me a champion. Now, that same champion sees in the mage some force of change." Whitened knuckles finally loosened as Sebastian Vael placed both palms instead on the stone floor beneath him. His squeezed his eyes shut, and his voice rose to a hoarse whisper as he made his plea.

"Maker, hear me. Grant me the power to ensure that his change is for good. Lend me the strength to save the mage from himself, and to save those around him. I am not a good man. You know this. But, Maker, I am trying. I need you."

For a moment the Prince rested, prostrate, until he finally let out a breath and rolled back onto his heels. A rueful smile played on his lips as a realisation hit him. He looked up at the golden statue in front of him and said gently "I suppose even this request is a little selfish, isn't it? Will I ever learn?"

Using a hand to steady himself, he shoved up and onto his feet; the flickering candles of the chantry reflecting in his white armour. The younger sisters of Kirkwall had sometimes remarked from behind shy hands that the Prince truly did embody the very vision of the Maker's paladin. He certainly didn't feel like it. He knew that, with Hawke, he was doing good for the first time in his life. Not just spreading the light of the chant, but actually doing good with his own two hands. But that same path also encompassed Anders. And, when it came to the mage, Sebastian's will would falter time after time. Even Fenris, whose hands had ripped hearts from warm bodies before Sebastian's very eyes, seemed easier to comprehend. He would lock himself away in that dusty mansion and drink himself into a haze, acknowledging the fact that he had limits. But Anders? The same eyes that could pierce Sebastian's core with their anger could, at times, be filled with dancing warmth. The same lips that spouted dangerous, fiery hate could then speak softly of cats and of love. The very same hands that, with a gesture, could burst templars into flames would also drain their owner to the point of exhaustion if it meant saving one sick child; and Anders had saved so many.

The man was something the archer could not fathom. A loose cannon. And his closeness to Hawke, and therefore to Sebastian, vexed the Prince no end. Was he placed in their midst to be saved? Or were they placed around him? Despite the obvious tension between the two men, Sebastian was not arrogant enough to dismiss the latter possibility entirely, but – if that was the case – then why had Anders insisted they gather ingredient for a non-existent potion? And why had he requested that Hawke distract Elthina? It was all too suspicious and the Prince could not rest easy without answers.

With a final bow to his Maker, Sebastian turned, descended the stairs and strode out of the Chantry and onto Kirkwall's streets.

* * *

><p>Anders was dead on his feet.<p>

It was becoming a fairly standard state of being for him and one that he was getting worryingly accustomed to. With a weak smile he patted the head of a small girl whose broken leg he had just fixed. Her Mother grasped his other hand so tightly he feared his wrist would snap.

"I don't know how we can thank you, Ser healer. Truly, you were sent to us from the Maker. Thank you, thank you so much."

Anders gave an embarrassed shake of his head and beckoned towards one of Lirene's girls. "Please, don't. You can thank me and the maker when you don't have to beg for bread. I wish I could do more."

The woman smiled warmly at him. "You do just plenty. You are a hero to the people here."

As Lirene's helper guided the woman and her daughter out of the clinic, a familiar wave of nausea came over Anders and he quickly braced himself with one arm on the table behind him. He certainly didn't feel much like a hero. A hero would have stayed with the Grey Wardens and guarded the world from evil. A hero wouldn't need to hide below the city like a criminal and use abandoned tunnels to sneak to his lover's side. A hero's mind wouldn't delve into the dark places his had. He brought a shaking hand to his temple and allowed himself to lean into Justice for a moment, letting the spirit's strength back up his own. He was pushing it, even for him. So much to do, so much…

_You are weak. You need to rest._

Anders smiled at the voice in his head, and then looked around at the ailing bodies, starving stomachs and desperate eyes surrounding him.

"Not just yet, old friend. Sorry."

He pushed up from the table, ignoring his own growling belly, and headed towards his next patient.

He was mid-examination when he felt his patient flinch a little, and not just because of the welts on her side from her master's last temper tantrum. Removing his hands, but remaining in a crouch, he turned his head to see what she had reacted to and was mildly surprised and annoyed to see the familiar white armour of the Prince of Starkhaven at his clinic door.

The girl's eyes were wide at the spectacle and even Anders had to admit that the man certainly cut a figure. He looked so out of place in the dank and dusty clinic it was almost amusing. Except that it wasn't. With a gentle word to his patient, Anders rose and gestured with his head towards a back room. With a nod, Sebastian strode through the clinic, his sad eyes taking in the picture, before following Anders into the nook.

"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure, Ser Prince?" Anders had his back to Sebastian, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he took the opportunity to wash his hands and forearms thoroughly. Vael shifted uneasily. Once again, his determination had been thwarted by the signs of good work he saw all around this infuriating man. Just how many new patients had been helped today? It seemed their numbers were ever increasing. He chose a neutral tone.

"You look exhausted, Anders."

A soft chuckle came from the healer's back "I didn't think you cared. I'm touched."

"You can't help them if you allow yourself to be drained."

Anders shook the excess liquid from his hands and turned towards Sebastian, a wry smile on his face. "Ah, you care about them at least. Well, it's more feeling than half the blighted city show. I should be glad."

He began to roll down the sleeves of his robe, his back now resting on the rock wall behind him. The smile faded as he looked the Prince in the eye, and Vael's breath hitched as he was hit full-on with just how exhausted the mage really looked.

"Look, get it over with, Sebastian. I know you're not here to enquire after my wellbeing and Hawke's not around. So, I guess this will be another of our brief but fascinating little dialogues. You preach at me for a while, I retort, you get frustrated, I get frustrated and we all go home happy."

The darker haired man almost smiled at that.

"Anders, I know that you do good work here. Those people, they love you. They need you. I can't fault your dedication."

"Why do I hear a 'but' coming?" Anders's eyes darkened slightly, his initial surprise at the kind words giving way to foreboding. "Think carefully about what follows it, Sebastian"

There it was. That shift in the apostate's demeanour that made the Prince's jaw tense, that echo that put him on edge.

"Don't you think you could do just as much good, if not more, from the safety of the circle? You could offer clean sheets, regulated potions…"

The response was angry. "I can't heal anyone as a blighted tranquil, you know that. This discussion is over."

Anders made to move, but before he could reach the curtain that separated them from the clinic, Sebastian's hand caught his wrist.

"I fear for you, Anders. I can't see the Maker's plan for you. You may be doing good here, but you are a mage first –"

"I am a human being first, Sebastian!" The words were spat as the once-warden span on his heel, throwing off Sebastian's grip with an ease that startled the larger man. "And a man second. My being a mage is only third on my list of priorities, though it seems to be first on everybody else's. Right behind apostate, maleficar and whatever other infernal terms _you people_ can come up with to describe the way I was born."

Sebastian's surprise gave way to defiance as he squared up to his rival. "Do you think you're the only one born into a position that displeases you? I was born an excess son and was handed to the chantry just as surely as you were handed to the circle."

The spluttered laugh that emitted from the healer's throat was not an amused or warm sound. "Sometimes your naiveté blows my mind. You cannot even begin to compare the two situations, and trust me when I say you don't want to know why. Besides," Anders folded his arms across his chest and levelled a gaze at the Prince that contained none of his casual charm and far more of Justice than Sebastian felt comfortable seeing, "Unlike you, if I chose to nip off home I wouldn't have a convenient army waiting for me."

He was pushing Vael's buttons and, Maker take him, it was working. Sebastian's face twisted into a sneer as he spat back and gestured through the curtain and towards darktown in general "No, but you seem to be doing a fine job of amassing one right here under our noses, don't you."

The two men breathed heavily, chests heaving with the effort of swallowing anger, until Anders's amber eyes gave a pale blue flicker and his expression changed. Trying carefully not to raise his voice lest his patients hear, he made sure every word got through to the Prince by leaning as far in as he possibly could without his weakness making him lose balance.

"Just keep pushing me, Sebastian. Keep bringing out the fight in me. Because every barbed word you throw at me only strengthens my resolve. Every time you knock me down, I want to get back up. And every time you hit me..." His lips almost grazed the ear they spoke into, and Sebastian felt an involuntary shudder at the sensation of fear that shot through him "…I want to hit back."

Then the moment was over, and the form that had felt so suffocatingly close was suddenly at the curtain, and Sebastian's voice shook as he implored "I came here to help you. Not to fight."

Anders offered a half smile as he threw the last line over his shoulder before heading back out into the clinic and to his waiting patients.

"Oh, you are helping, Sebastian. You have no idea how much."

END OF PART ONE.

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><p><em>So - here we go! Thanks to all of your wonderful support for my smaller practice pieces, I find myself embarking on something a bit more involved, yay! Thank you SO much for the feedback, and thanks in advance for any reviews you feel inspired to offer for this piece. They make my heart swell!<em>

_I hope you enjoy the read and I hope to have another chapter up before too long._ ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi, guys! Wow - this ended up a LOT longer than I planned it to be. These boys like to talk, it seems. Grab yourself a cup of tea and listen in if you like. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you SO much in advance for any comments or reviews; they're massively appreciated! ^_^_

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><p><strong>Sign of the Maker – Part two<strong>

"Hawke, behind you!"

Cortland Hawke turned at the sound of Aveline's shout without hesitation, twin daggers whirling. The fight had been a long and hard one, and he was panting and tired, he knew, but he would not go down like this. Almost automatically his eyes sought out the party's healer as he span, hoping beyond hope that this wouldn't be his last look. _Please, Maker, not now_.

He needn't have worried.

Before his blades could bite into the flesh of the man behind him, an arrow lodged itself firmly into the forehead of his would-be attacker, sending the last of their current foes crashing to the floor. There was a moment's pause as the party sheathed weapons and brushed dirt from their clothing, Hawke letting out a whistle as he did so.  
>"That one was pretty close." He turned and looked up at a raised section of the Bonepit mining cavern, where the Prince of Starkhaven stood. "A timely arrival, Sebastian, you have my thanks."<br>A small head movement from the Prince as he descended towards the group suggested thanks weren't needed. "Varric told me you four had come down here without an archer's bow to back you up. I got here as soon as I could, though I'm sorry I seem to have missed the bulk of the fight."  
>As Merrill let her rock armour fade, Aveline knocked back an elfroot potion, one hand on her hip. "You certainly made an entrance. That could have ended badly."<br>"You're not kidding." Anders jogged up to Cortland's side, his drained face a picture of concern. "The sooner you master the art of having eyes in the back of your head, the easier I'll rest at night."  
>Hawke smiled at his healer and cocked one eyebrow teasingly. "What makes you think I'd <em>let<em> you rest easy at night?"  
>The comment drew an embarrassed groan from most of the party, and an angry blush from the apostate "You know what I mean! Just because you're the Champion now, that doesn't mean you need to fling yourself into the line of danger any more than is necessary. That paralysis spell stopped me from being able to do a thing, I thought…" Panic swallowed the rest of his sentence. Hawke placed a hand on one feathered shoulder and gave a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."<br>Anders nodded, then gave a strained smile and let his eyes move to a second pathway peeking out from behind a corner of rock. "I'll just check we're all clear."  
>As he moved off, Sebastian and Aveline gave Hawke a look that suggested they shared the mage's misgivings. Sebastian vocalised their thoughts.<br>"It's not often that I'll agree with our resident renegade, but he's right, Hawke. This city needs you as its beacon. You have us to back you up, so you needn't be reckless."

Merrill had already started the process of checking the corpses around them for anything useful, a little squeal making its way out of the small elf every time she came across something shiny. It was an act that Aveline constantly had to close her eyes to. As if it wasn't bad enough that they were down here carrying out their own brand of justice, did Hawke really need his companions to be thieves as well?  
>"So, who were they this time?" enquired the newly-arrived archer "Thieves, smugglers…?"<br>"Slavers"  
>Sebastian gave a nod of satisfaction. Despite his apprehensive feelings towards the amount of death his new companions inflicted, somehow he trusted Hawke enough to know that any enemy of his was an enemy worth felling. It was a pity he didn't share as much trust when it came to the man's choice of companions.<br>As if the sound was summoned by his very thinking of the mage, Sebastian's trained ears suddenly picked up on a sharp intake of breath coming from behind the rock outcrop where Anders was investigating. So as not to throw any extra concern onto the others, who were busy examining Merrill's finds, he quietly and casually headed around the corner to find the apostate bent double, a shaking hand at his waist.  
>"Anders?"<br>"I'll be right there. Just…give me a moment." A pause, then "Actually, could you hand me the lyrium potion in that knapsack? Just…just don't say anything."  
>Blood was seeping from a gash in the blonde's side and between his fingers, and Sebastian realised in a shocked instant that the man had wanted to heal himself away from where he could cause any worry to their Champion. As he silently drew a small vial from the bag on the ground and placed it into the reaching, bloody hand, the Prince's mind was once again thrown into a confused turmoil about the mage's character. How could one person be at the same time selfish and selfless? Clever and stupid? Good…and…<br>The pulse of healing magic faded, and Anders straightened himself warily, testing the place where the wound had been. Then his shoulders relaxed and he offered a very faint smile to the archer. "Thanks."  
>Hardly the most gracious thank you Sebastian had ever received, but it was appreciated none the less. Before he could say 'you're welcome', however, their brief truce was interrupted by Hawke's raised voice, tinged with fear.<p>

"Anders, get out of there! Anders, Sebastian…_please_!"

The sounds of scuffling and Aveline and Merrill's muffled calls to 'stop' suggested that the two women were desperately holding the rogue back from something. Anders and Sebastian turned as one to look at the cavern behind them, and their eyes widened as they saw, and felt, exactly what had the Champion so scared.  
>The passage roof was caving in.<br>Sebastian cursed himself for not realising, not noticing the weak structure in this side passage sooner, but it was too late to heap blame. Reflexes took over, allowing him to dodge a few larger rocks that threatened to cave in his skull as sure as the cavern around them. Next to him, Anders had his arms thrown over his head, eyes shut tightly as a blue glow crept slowly up his pale neck. _Great. Just the three of them, versus a cave-in.  
><em>Justice, using the mage's body and magic, managed to crumble some of the larger chunks of rock as they descended, and Sebastian pushed and pulled the apostate's frame through others as they desperately strained toward the larger cavern entrance. But the futile struggle ended abruptly as the two men felt a sickening shudder beneath their feet. It was no good. The whole place was about to collapse beneath and on top of them.  
>Blue eyes quickly reverted to amber and pulsing spirit marks vanished as Anders took control of himself with a growl, the look on his face grim and determined. With one arm he pulled the archer close to his side, and with the other he planted his staff firmly into the ground in front of them. His lips muttered something inaudible as an ethereal glow surrounded their bodies. Then his voice rang out with a tone Sebastian had never heard before, perhaps because he had never been important enough to the mage to warrant it.<br>"Cortland, get the hell out of here!"

It was the last thing Hawke heard before his wide, unblinking eyes watched the cavern in front of him collapse, burying his lover and his friend somewhere behind a wall of rock.

* * *

><p>"…hmmm?"<br>Through slitted eyes, all Anders could make out was darkness, darkness and more darkness. Oh, and a face. Sebastian's face. Great. He preferred the darkness.  
>"Are you okay?"<br>There was more concern in the brogue than he'd ever heard in it before, at least when it was for his own benefit. He must have done something terribly heroic and probably stupid to warrant it.  
>With a groan, Anders let himself sit up and take in their surroundings, which weren't much to look at. Right now they amounted to black. Sebastian moved back and sat a small distance away. Through the dark surrounding them Anders could just make out that the Prince's white armour was filthy from dust and mud. It would have been an almost satisfying sight, if his own clothes and person hadn't been likely equally soiled.<br>"We're alive. Fancy that."  
>"You saved us." A pause "Your magic saved us."<br>Anders gave a grim smile at that. "And doesn't that just get your nug."  
>He was rewarded with silence.<br>In the darkness, Anders probed his person for damage. He seemed physically fine but, Maker, he was exhausted. The arcane shield had really taken it out of him. It had taken a lot more energy than he could have expected to shield two people rather than one. And what good had it done them, he wondered? As his senses slowly returned, a rising panic gripped him. He was trapped. He was trapped again and there was nothing he could do. Where on Thedas were they anyway? And how long could they last down here in what amounted to a bubble of air in a sea of rock? A thought struck him and he suddenly groped about on the dusty floor.  
>"The knapsack. What happened to the bag?"<br>"It's not here. I checked while you were…out."  
>Anders's heart sank. No lyrium. And there was no way he was summoning any kind of magic without it. Not for a while. He looked around them fearfully as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and considered just how much oxygen they had been left with.<br>"I…I've tried the walls. They're solid." Sebastian's voice was quiet. Factual. "There's no gap that I can make out. And I can't feel any flow of air."  
>"Great."<br>"It's cold too…it's a pity we can't make a fire."  
>"Are you joking? That's the worst thing we could do. There's scant oxygen here as it is and a fire would only consume more. What do they teach you in those palaces?"<br>The voice that replied was laced with the more familiar snarl that Sebastian usually reserved for the mage, "I wouldn't know. I wasn't raised in one."  
>Silence again.<br>It was too much. Panic and frustration hit Anders with a rush. He was stuck underground, far away from help, with no magic, caved-in with a man who did nothing but belittle and infuriate him. Bethany had been right, the Maker really did have a sense of humour. He may as well be back in the…  
>He put his head in his hands and let out a long groan. Then he got shakily to his feet and started prodding and poking at the stone around them. He barely had room to stand.<br>"I told you, I already checked the walls."  
>"Well I'm checking again."<br>"You won't find anything I didn't."  
>Anders rounded on the other man who was seated with his back against the wall, one knee raised.<br>"How can you be so calm?" He was almost embarrassed at the lack of calm in his own voice. Sebastian's voice was thoughtful as he answered. "I have faith."  
>A sneer twisted the blonde's lips "Oh? And you think the Maker will save us from this hole, do you?"<br>Even in the low light it was possible to see the small gleam that came to the Prince's blue eyes as he smiled up at Anders, slyly. "No." He said. "But I believe that Hawke will."  
>The apostate puffed his cheeks like a child before sitting down again with a shrug of his feathered shoulders. "Well, I guess we finally agree on something."<p>

Silence reigned for a short while. Then, after a small intake of breath, the archer spoke.  
>"You know, maybe the Maker has given us this chance to talk."<br>Incredulity tinged the mage's reply "Are you really going to do this now? Really? What you see as a blessed chance from the Maker for us to converse, I see as a ton of rock being thrown on our heads and burying us alive. It doesn't really put me in the mood for chat; least of all your sort of chat."  
>"What's that supposed to mean?" Sebastian's voice sounded a little hurt, and Anders heaved out a sigh before continuing.<br>"I'm just…not in the mood to hear about the Maker's plan for me right now, okay?"  
>"You're not a big fan, I can tell." There was a little humour in the tone this time, which was easier to deal with. Anders closed his eyes and let his head fall onto the rock behind him. He flexed his fingers, willing magic to flow, but his reserves were still depleted.<br>"I just don't think the Maker cares all that much for mages, that's all."  
>He regretted the words as soon as they'd been spoken.<br>"But," Sebastian sounded genuinely surprised "the Maker gave us the circle to protect the mages!"  
>With a grunt, Anders realised there was no escaping this conversation, any more than they could escape this blighted hole right now.<br>"Protect? Sebastian the circle does not protect. Do we really have to go through this again? Just how do you see making innocent mages tranquil as protecting them?"  
>"The tranquil state allows a mage to go on with his life. Safe from the forces that can bring him madness or demons…"<br>"…Or love, or dreams, or hope! Do you not think that they, that we, that **I** deserve those things?" His voice sounded strained now, he knew. He couldn't stand this. He had to get out.

There was a long pause before the archer spoke again. His words took Anders by surprise.  
>"What's it like?"<br>"What's what like?" Anders snapped back.  
>Sebastian shifted his position, swapping his raised leg and stretching the other out in front of him. Resting an arm on the newly elevated knee he continued "What's it like being a mage? You're right. I've never asked. I've never really considered your side. So, tell me."<br>Exasperated, Anders clenched and released his right hand a few times, his jaw twitching. Why now? Why here?  
>"I don't know. What's it like being an archer? What's it like being an arrogant sod?"<br>"Anders, I'm serious." Something in the tone made Anders open his eyes and look curiously at the man. He really was.  
>The Prince continued his question in earnest. "I've always been left with an image in my mind of mages constantly dealing with demons knocking on the door of their soul. Is that the case?"<br>Anders brought his knees up to his chin and hugged them gently. He stared into the darkness in front of him and pondered. If this really was a chance to influence the man's opinion, he'd be a fool not to take it.  
>"No. No, of course not. Most of the time we're no different from you; from anyone. In dreams, in moments of stillness, yes, they can find us. They sometimes do. But it takes a foolish and desperate mage to accept a demon's offer…most of the time."<br>"Have they come to you?" It was a fair question.  
>"Since Justice? No. I guess he somehow wards them away. He's a benevolent spirit, but I get the feeling that most of the fade's residents fear him; which is handy for me." The blonde's eyes closed again. "Before Justice? Yes. Yes, they came to me." A shiver coursed through his body as his mind was forced to recall moments he'd buried long ago. Flash memories of templar armour, of chains and of screams. A gentle blue light pulsed through him as Justice did his best to remove them again. With a husky voice, Anders forced himself to continue. "I didn't answer them. I was stronger than some. But, I'll tell you something important, Sebastian. When a mage is at his lowest; when he is cornered, frightened, broken and lost; when what the world has to offer is not worth having… that's when he is the most dangerous. At those times, a demon's sweet promises can sound like…"<br>"…Salvation." The Prince finished.

A silence fell again and Sebastian felt that a small candle had flickered to life inside of him. _Maker, I understand a little better. _He spoke slowly, showing respect for the explanation he'd been given.  
>"So, if a mage is shown kindness, if he feels safe, then a demon has less chance of succeeding." he paused, unsure of where the imperium would sit in this idea. He had a lot to think about. "The Maker meant the circle to protect mages. I believe that with my soul. If it is not doing that, then his will is being carried out wrongly."<br>"It's not doing that. Believe me, it's not." growled the mage next to him, hugging his knees tighter. The claustrophobia of this place was starting to make him feel ill.  
>Sebastian gave a nod. "I need to see it. I need to know. If it is as you say, mages are turning to demons at a time when they should turn to the Maker. His is the only salvation they should be seeking."<br>"His 'salvation'," Anders spat the word "amounts to imprisonment and a spiritual beheading. That's what the circle and its templars offer. That is its salvation. Mages shouldn't be put in a place where they need to seek any kind of salvation in the first place."  
>"We are all seeking salvation, Anders. All of us. And the Maker will give it to us."<br>The apostate made to retort, and then stopped himself. He sighed wearily. If the Prince had been willing to listen to him, it was only fair he let the man keep his beliefs. Maker knows he could do with some of his own down here. And there was that term again_. Maker knows_. Considering Sebastian's words, Anders felt a small realisation of his own. Perhaps the archer was right about one thing. Perhaps the Maker's will was indeed being carried out wrongly. Was it possible to separate the Maker Himself from his representation here in Thedas? It was food for thought.

Suddenly, Anders sat up with a jolt as a spark of energy flickered between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. He slowly raised the hand until it was level with his face, and took a breath. As he released it, small flames danced on his skin, tickling him in the most glorious way he could have imagined possible. Beside him, Sebastian's face spread into a matching smile and the two men gazed at the small sparks and flames as if they were…well, magic. Just the small light source was enough to lift their spirits a little.  
>"My mana. It's…it's back!" Anders breathed.<br>"I suppose the Maker decided we'd had long enough to talk." Sebastian risked the line with a grin, fully expecting a retort. He was surprised when Anders smiled back and nodded. "Maybe. Maybe he did."  
>Getting onto all fours, Anders poked the walls until he could feel an area where the rock was just slightly less dense. Magic might pass where air could not. At the very least, he could offer a position. Gently, so as not to waste the precious resources he had, he let magic flow from his fingertips and into the rock. Blue light pulsed on his skin as Justice loaned some added strength, and Anders closed his eyes in thanks.<br>Sebastian watched the spectacle with a slight sense of awe.

And somewhere, far beyond the small space that housed the two men, Carver Hawke felt a tingle through his newly acquired templar abilities. His eyes flicked open and he turned excitedly.  
>"I think I feel them, brother. Seems your mage is still alive."<br>Cortland Hawke let out a choked laugh of relief and sank gratefully to his knees.


	3. Chapter 3

(I've no idea why this is all in italics 0_o Sorry, guys - trying to fix it!)

_Anders and Sebastian aren't under ground any more, yaaaay! Mostly a chaper of yet more talk and a little fluff, I'm afraid. But ooooh a new character appears at the end! You may just know him. ^_~_

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><p><strong>Sign of the Maker – part three<strong>

He was warm and lying on something soft. The sounds and smells around him confirmed what his body suggested: that he was no longer in a hole in the ground. Justice was still and he was safe.

Still almost fearful to risk his eyes ruining the illusion, Anders let his hands close on the soft material beneath him that was not rock. It yielded to his touch and allowed itself to be gathered and twisted and balled into his fingers. Feeling a small smile of relief stretch his face, Anders dared to open his eyes.

He saw a face. Hawke's face. _That_, he mused, _was much better._

"Anders?" Cortland had clearly been watching those long fingers move, and his eyes now darted excitedly up to study the face of the pale mage lying on his bed. "Anders! You're…you're awake."

Cortland Hawke was seated on a chair, facing the four poster bed in his room, head and shoulders leaning forward as if to get a better look at his patient. He fought back an overwhelming urge to crush the man he looked down upon into a crazy, relieved embrace. It probably wasn't the most sensible move he could make right now, after all.

The apostate had been unconscious when they'd finally pulled him from the ground. It had given Hawke quite a shock to see, of all things, the Prince of Starkhaven lifting the exhausted mage in his arms and passing him through the rescue hole towards reaching hands. He remembered reaching down to grasp the archer's forearm once Anders was safely out of danger, and a long look had passed between the pair of them. Hawke hadn't said the words 'thank you', but his eyes expressed them more deeply than words ever could; and a slow nod from Sebastian, as he braced his legs against rock and used Hawke's strength to pull himself up and out of his prison, said that he understood.

"Are you okay?"

Cortland was pulled from his memory by Anders's voice. With a laugh he grasped one of the man's hands tightly and looked into tired-looking amber eyes. "You're asking _me_ if I'm alright? I should be asking you that question. Aside from being scared half to death that I was going to lose you, I'm absolutely fine."

Anders moved to shake his head. With it sunk into the pillows like that, he only succeeded in rolling it through feathery down a few times and making his hair frizz out in an amusing way, but the gesture got through all the same. "As if a little bit of rock was going to finish me off."

"Oh, the rock didn't bother me at all," a sultry smile crept onto Hawke's face in a way that made Anders's stomach flip, despite his weakened state "I was more expecting you and Sebastian to have killed each other before we got to you."

The mage laughed. It was a good sound and it made Cortland's heart swell to know it could still happen. Recently he'd felt like he was losing Anders to…something. The healer had been slipping further and further from him, and the rogue had felt helpless to stop the spiral of recklessness and bitterness that seemed to have Anders so firmly in its grasp. But with him lying here, laughing, smiling; everything felt right again. Position and reputation be damned, he could cope with whatever this city threw his way, so long as he could hear Anders laugh. The urge rose again to smother the man in an embrace, and Hawke swallowed hard, fighting it off. Inwardly he smirked as he remembered Isabella's teasing words before the group left the mansion: "I'd normally be the first to say 'jump his bones' in celebration, Hawke. But even I can see that the man needs rest."

"You know, Sebastian's not quite so much of an arse as I once thought." The blonde mage was attempting to sit up; grimacing a little at just how much of his frame ached. Cortland quickly moved to prop up pillows and play nurse, ignoring the way that the thin robe his patient was wearing stretched and played over the contours of a body he hadn't touched in what felt like a long time. The role reversal was refreshing at least and made him feel more useful to his partner than he had in a long time.

"High praise indeed for our resident chantry boy. What on earth did you two talk about down there?"

"Oh, you know. The weather, nug wresting…" Anders's eyes hazed over a little and he seemed to mentally drift away for a moment. "…and the Maker's will and representation on Thedas. We talked about the circle's failures, and he listened. He…actually listened."

Cortland gripped the pale hand in his tighter and focused on the mage's face, willing him back. That distance felt like it was returning already, so soon, and he couldn't stand it. "That's…good. I'm surprised, but I'm pleased. It would make my life a lot easier if you two weren't at each other's throats constantly."

Anders placed his second hand over Hawke's as his eyes refocused and he smiled. "I can't say that we're necessarily on the same side just yet, but…well, I supposed we reached a sort of mutual respect."

The warmth of the mage's hand on his own forced a relieved sigh from Cortland, making Anders narrow his eyes and frown slightly as he suddenly considered just how frightening this ordeal must have been for the other man. When was it that they had grown so far apart that it took a moment like this to remind him of how lucky he was? When had their long conversations and frantic lovemaking degraded into the occasional flirt and throwaway quip? His voice was warm and caring as he reached out and cupped a hand to Hawke's cheek.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

The sudden gentleness banished any desire to make light of the situation as the rogue looked at his lover with concerned and sad eyes, and asked "Were you frightened?"

"I was petrified. I haven't felt more scared since…in a long time." Memories threatened to resurface again, and he forced them down. "But we knew you'd come for us. I believed in you."

Isabella hadn't specified a healing time. Sod it.

Anders's cupped hand was left stroking at the air as Hawke moved in an instant from the chair to the bed, his arms snaking around the slim mage's form, bringing their bodies together in an embrace that embodied his fears, his doubts and just how much he needed the man he had so very nearly lost. Anders's eyes widened as he felt bruised ribs crushed against the Champion's house robes, then he let them close as Hawke's head press into his shoulder, nuzzling into his robe; lips kissing the pale flesh they found there. With still weak arms, he gathered the rogue to him as best he could, encircling his shoulders and stroking his hair. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm so sorry."

He wished he could say I'll never do it again…but he knew that he couldn't make that promise.

* * *

><p>"You're kidding." The tankard that had been about to pour beer into Varric Tethras's waiting mouth stopped just short as his eyes whirled towards Sebastian in shock. "He actually smiled as he said those words?"<p>

The man in white armour chuckled and took a sip of his own drink. "He did."

"And this was a genuine smile? You're sure that in the darkness, or in your ever-so-sweet naiveté, you didn't mistake sarcasm for a genuine smile?" This was Isabella. The buxom pirate was leaning deeply across the table at Sebastian, loose jewelry at her throat guiding the eye towards her ample cleavage in a way that he knew could weave spells against lesser men as sure as a mage's staff could. Chaste or not, he could play her at this game, and enjoyed it to boot, knowing that his threshold for self-control far outmatched her own. Over the rim of his tankard, he let his blue eyes look deeply into hers with a piercing gaze he had honed into an art in his life before the Chantry. He spoke softly and slowly, "Oh, I know a genuine smile when I see one, dear lady."

Maker, those eyes. Not for the first time, Isabella felt the world was a crueller place for not allowing her to meet this man before he had taken his bloody vows. She wanted to see those eyes widen and close with pleasure as she did unspeakable things to their owner…blighted Chantry. Beaten, the pirate sat back and reached for her own drink with a grin and a shake of her head.

"I'm still disappointed to know that the pair of you, nay – the three of you, faced possible death in an enclosed space together, and all you did was talk."

The Prince raised an eyebrow at the remark "And what would you have suggested we do?"

Varric spluttered politely and wiped beer from his face with a sleeve. The chantry boy may have allowed himself to loosen up a little around their motley crew, but he was playing with fire right now. He fully expected a new chapter of Isabella's writing to find its way under his door tonight. It wasn't one he was entirely sure would be to his personal taste.

"Well I think it's marvellous that you two spoke." Whether she knew of the tide she had just held back was anyone's guess as three pairs of eyes moved to Merrill. "And listened. That part's equally important. Speaking and listening are two things that people don't do nearly enough of, if you ask me."

"Truer words were ne'er spoken." Sebastian raised his drink towards the elf and smiled. "I do feel better for it. I think my mind has been opened a little and I'm grateful to the Maker for the opportunity to learn."

"If only everyone were more willing to hear a different opinion than their own…" Merrill's eyes looked sadly at the table for the briefest of moments before she recovered herself and stood, slamming her hands onto the table's surface. "It's my turn to get drinks, I think."

As Merrill's lithe form slipped between patrons and to the bar, Varric clapped a large, warm hand on the Prince's shoulder. "I think it sounds like both you and blondie learned something from each other down there. He's a good man, better than many give him credit for, and a good friend when he's not being a miserable nug-humper. Thanks for, you know, giving him a chance and not asking the Maker to strike him down or anything."

Sebastian looked innocently at the dwarf, a trace of surprise in his voice as he remembered Anders's words in the cavern:

least of all your sort of chat

"What do you people take me for? Do I really seem that narrow minded?"

As if the move had been planned, Varric and Isabella in unison each held a thumb and forefinger up in front of their faces and squinted at the Prince. The moment made all three let out a laugh, and Sebastian ran a hand through his hair,

"Maybe I do come on a little strong sometimes. I just want others to feel the peace that I feel."

Isabella propped her head up with one hand and traced patterns on the table's wooden surface with the fingers of the other.

"People are strange and diverse things, sweet thing. They find their peace in different ways, but if they don't find it for themselves, then it's no peace at all."

The rare profundity of Isabella's words stunned the two men into silence for a moment. Then her head lifted again and her voice seemed to remember who she really was as she exclaimed "Andraste's flaming privates!" and pointed a finger towards the bar. Her companions turned and followed the finger's path to see Merrill smiling away as a man helped her carry five drinks towards their table. Their mouths fell open in silent surprise. While Varric may not have known the man personally, there was no mistaking the face under that cloak, or the way that the occasional fellow patron gave a confused double-take as he passed.

Sebastian rose quickly from his seat and made to kneel, old habits dying hard. As he did so, the man placed tankards on the table, gave the Prince a firm shoulder clap, and leaned in to say quietly "Don't you dare."

Blushing a little, the archer nodded and sat mutely back down. He, Varric and Isabella stared in silent wonder as the cloaked man settled himself on the bench between Sebastian and a smiling, oblivious Merrill. After a moment, the elf gave an exasperated huff "Well, I don't know what you're all so quiet about all of a sudden." She turned to the man as he lowered his hood, "I'm sorry, they're not normally so rude. And after you paid for our drinks too. What did you say your name was again? I suppose I didn't ask, actually. Maybe I'm equally rude. And babbly. I babble a lot. I'm babbling now. Sorry."

The elf's chatter had given Isabella the time she needed to recollect herself. She reached for her tankard and doffed it towards their new guest with a half smile,

"Yes, What do we call you now, exactly? Your highness? Ser King of Ferelden? Hero of the Blight?..."

The man grinned and reached for his own drink as he replied with a wink "Just Alistair will do fine. We're not in Ferelden now."

It was Merrill's turn to go silent, as she stared at Alistair with an open mouth and, for once, didn't babble.

End of part three :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Sign of the Maker Part Four**

"This one's a firebrand. He'll have your knob off if you're not careful."

_Leave me alone._

"Oh, yeah? I know the sort. Had one like that in the Starkhaven circle. She soon learned when to shut up."

_Please, just leave me alone._

"So what's he done to deserve the isolation treatment?"

"Four escape attempts so far. Talking nice just doesn't seem to be getting through to the clod."

"I'm sure I can think of something that will."

_Please…Maker…_

A hand in his hair, tilting back his head as his robe is parted, exposing shaking shoulders. Chained wrists can offer little resistance. Another hand is reaching beneath him, stroking upwards along his thigh; the skirts of the dirty robe riding up with it until he feels a deep shame mingling with the anger, the hatred and the fear of this place. A mouth finds his breast and, as a wet tongue traces an unseen line on his torso, he squeezes his eyes shut tight, willing his mind to take him anywhere, anywhere but this…Anywhere but this…

_I can make it so._

…

_Justice, no! This isn't that place…this isn't that man…Justice, please – stop!_

Cortland Hawke froze, his lips still pressed against the white, trembling flesh under which he had just seen a threatening pulse of blue light. Withdrawing slightly, he let his eyes wander up the slim frame of the body beneath him. When they reached Anders's face, they widened in horror. The mage was deathly pale, his eyes scrunched shut as if he expected to be hit. His lips were murmuring words that Hawke couldn't hear and, worst of all, hot tears streaked his cheeks. Hawke's heart missed a beat. _Maker, what did I do?_

"Anders. Anders, please…look at me. Are you alright?" Cortland cradled the blonde man's face in both hands as his eyes frantically pleaded for the mage's own to open. "Oh, Maker, Anders, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…what's wrong. Do you hurt?"

With a start, Ander's eyes snapped open, flashing blue momentarily before the mage's own warm amber returned; shock and fear shining out. _Where? What….? _

"C – Cortland?"

Silently and slowly, as if in a dream, the healer reached out a shivering hand. He brushed it lightly against the rogue's cheek before then touching it to his own; which, as his confused expression suggested, he was surprised to find damp. As his eyes moved from his own wet fingertips back to Hawke's horrified expression, realisation dawned and his mouth fell open. He was in Hawke's estate. He wasn't in the circle. The man who had been caressing him was not a templar, he was his love; his world. And Justice had nearly…

With a whimper, and in a clumsy, mad scramble, the mage was on his knees; his hands reaching for Hawke's face just as Hawke's own hands still held his own. Drawing him close, Anders let his forehead lean against that of the other man, and the two breathed heavily together amidst the twisted bedsheets.

Slowly, and after a long pause, Cortland raised his frightened eyes to look at the bowed, blonde head of the apostate opposite him. What on Thedas had just happened? One minute they'd been laughing and teasing like teenagers; Anders plucking at Hawke's clothing with that lazy half smile of his that sent the brunette wild. Then Cortland had flipped the situation, literally, giggling as he saw a surprised blush creep onto the apostate's face. It had been wonderful, perfect. Kirkwall could have burned and he wouldn't have cared.

And yet now here he was, feeling like a monster for daring to touch the man he loved; the man he had shared a bed with for three years. Anger frayed the edges of his patience, but he swallowed it down, allowing the mage to speak first.

"I – I can't…I'm so sorry." Anders shook his head. "I'm a disaster. You should leave me…just leave me and be happy. You deserve to be happy."

That broken tone, coming from this strong, wilful man, killed any anger Hawke had felt; his heart melting instead into a desperate sadness. Anders had been distant recently it was true, but this weakness, this fragility – this was not his rebellious mage at all. And his fear of their growing apart was fast becoming a fear for the apostate's state of mind instead. Gently, but firmly, he forced Anders to look at him.

"I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you until you tell me what the hell just happened."

"I…" the mage's eyes shifted sideways, as if he was keen to get away, as if he didn't want to be here. Cortland tightened his grip on the man's face. "Look at me, Anders! I love you. I love you and right now I'm scared to death that I'm losing you. Talk to me."

At his words, the apostate suddenly gasped and drew the rogue tightly to him, clinging to the body in his arms as if it was his very lifeblood. The pair rocked gently; Hawke's own arms encircling Anders's chest, his head resting on the healer's shoulder, his face nestled amongst blonde hair. The mage's voice was warm and caring when he found words.

"I seem to be saying the word so much, but I truly am sorry, love. You are the most important thing in my life, believe me. I know I don't show that as often as I should."

A small measure of relief flooded through Hawke as he rolled back on his heels and out of the mage's embrace. "Anders, what just happened? Is it your injuries?"

The blonde shook his head and avoided eye contact, tracing patterns on Cortland's chest with his fingers.

"I think that the cavern, that enclosed space…it awakened some memories that I would rather it hadn't, that's all."

"Of your time in the circle?"

Anders nodded. "Justice confused your touch with a memory and…" he cut off his own sentence, realising how close he had come to saying what he'd determined not to for so many years. He lifted his eyes to Hawke's face and a sinking feeling hit him as his lover's expression suggested he hadn't stopped himself soon enough.

"Anders…what sort of memory could Justice confuse with me loving you?" A coldness had gripped Cortland's heart and was snaking its way through him like a poison. Just what else had this man endured in his life? And why hadn't they talked about it?

"Please," Anders pleaded, "Don't ask me about it. All you need to know is that the circle was not the sanctuary to me that they would have you believe it is. I was imprisoned, kept in isolation, beaten at times. Just, please…don't ask me to tell you any more than that. I'll get this under control. I'll pull myself back together for you, I swear it."

Hawke let out a slow breath, trying with all his might to stop his mind processing the gut-wrenching suggestions that were bombarding his imagination. "Whatever…happened in the circle, Anders, I don't think you can fully put it behind you until you talk about it."

"Don't make me…"

"Then not with me. I can't pretend it doesn't hurt that you feel you can't talk to me about this. Maker, it hurts like hell." He grasped one of Anders's hands with both of his own and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently as the apostate gave a broken sigh "But I want you whole again. If it can't be me, find someone else to speak to. Only please, talk about it. Get this poison, this hatred, out. You can hide a memory, but it doesn't mean it didn't happen."

_And now that they are unlocked, Justice will protect me from those memories for as long as they haunt me. _

"Maybe you're right." Anders let his breathing settle back into a normal rhythm, colour returning to his cheeks as he allowed acceptance in.

_I need to see it. I need to know._

Sebastian's words from the cavern came back to him. He gave a grim smile. Two birds with one stone, eh?

"That blighted cave-in has a lot to answer for."

* * *

><p>It was late in the Hanged Man and few patrons were left to enjoy the dwindling atmosphere. Sebastian hadn't been in this place at so late an hour since a happy night years before, when he and his companions had gathered to celebrate Cortland Hawke's naming as Champion of Kirkwall. It had been a fun evening, one filled with hope and promise for the future. But he had been a different man then. Naively accepting of the truths painted for him by others, he had made his decision to remain in the chantry and had imagined himself content. He had accepted his role at the Champion's side and at the Maker's call. The circle was a sanctuary, Knight-Commander Meredith was a hero, and service to the chantry was the one true path to the Maker's side. He had even quashed that hated part of him that yearned for just a little taste of his own glory; that part that wondered whether his people needed him, that wanted to be more like the heroes he had heard of in stories…heroes like Alistair; King of Ferelden.<p>

That very man was currently waving his tankard energetically, recounting how his wife had once managed to convince even an Antivan assassin who had been sent to kill her to instead join her cause. Sebastian had to admit, the Hero of Ferelden sounded like a remarkable woman, and one he couldn't help but admire hugely, though it was clear to him that Alistair undervalued his own part in the fifth blight's ending massively.

"You should have seen the way Zev looked up at Elissa from where he lay…" Alistair's eyes were glazed as he mooned over the thought of his love, back in Ferelden, "He was obviously smitten from the first glance, though who can blame him?" He regarded his tankard fondly and smiled to himself. "I am a lucky man."

Sebastian still couldn't quite believe that he had spent the last few hours with a man he'd once worshipped as a role model. And, to his eternal joy, the King of Ferelden had proved himself more than worthy of that position. Generous, humble, courteous to a fault and with seemingly no idea of the affect he had on those around him, Alistair was every bit the unlikely, likeable hero that Sebastian had heard tales about. A simple man who had risen from being a bastard son to a grey warden, a saviour of Ferelden and finally a King, loved by his people and unquestioned in his reign. Truly, he was a man favoured by the Maker, and it did Sebastian a great honour to be able to speak with him. He had been grateful, however, for Isabella's flippant and casual manner around their guest. Without it, he doubted he'd have known where to begin conversation. As it was, she and Alistair had relived the fifth blight and memories of a shared evening that surprised the whole party _(dear Maker, was there anyone the woman hadn't bedded?)_, before the pirate had admitted sadly that she had to keep an appointment, and taken her leave.

"I remember seeing your Queen once; long before she was a Queen of course. It was in camp at Ostagar, the night before the…"

Aveline stopped speaking suddenly, biting her lip as she regretted instantly mentioning Ostagar at all. She had joined the group a little after Merrill had also left for the night. After finishing her shift, the guard captain had stuck her head into the tavern to pass some information onto Varric, and had been as gobsmacked as everyone else by their unexpected drinking companion. Somehow an 'I can't stop' had turned into a good hour's talk, and here she still was.

Alistair set his drink back down on the table and shook his head gently.

"It's alright, guard-captain. Ostagar was a long time ago and it was a hard time for us all, but it _should_ be remembered, I think. Loghain is dead, and Elissa and I gave Cailan his final rest ourselves when we returned to the site of the battle." His eyes looked sad for a moment, then he smiled "So you shouldn't feel you can't talk about a time that must have been just as hard for you as for anyone."

Aveline gazed at the table's surface for a beat before she looked Alistair in the eye with an almost regretful expression. "You know, for the longest time when I remembered that day, I couldn't help but wonder…if you and the other grey warden had been on the field, rather than up that blighted tower, would things have been any different."

The lazy smile that had graced the once-warden's face for most of the evening cracked a little at her statement, and Alistair cupped his tankard in both hands as he spoke. "I asked myself the same question…more times than you can know."

He seemed to shake himself and then, just like that, his moment of melancholy had passed. "But what's done is done. We can only look forward."

Aveline seemed satisfied at that. Bitterness had played on her mind for a long time after that horrendous battle, but she knew that it had been desperation that lead her to wonder, not practicality. Maybe she had just been jealous of the two wardens, for being spared the horrors that she herself had to witness. Whatever the reasons, her later understanding of what those same two people had gone through to save them all had left her feeling a deep shame for ever doubting them.

"To looking forward" she exclaimed, raising her drink.

"To looking forward" came the chorus.

Finally, Varric gave a yawn and stretched, his head spinning from the stories he had absorbed this evening. He had acquired lot of precious weaving material.

"Well, I am done and that seems as good a note as any to leave on. My friends, it has been an absolute pleasure." Standing, he gave a small bow in Alistair's direction and added "Meeting you, doubly so. I wish you and your lovely Queen a long and happy reign"

Alistair smiled and bowed slightly in return. "It has been an honour meeting you, Varric. After years spent with Oghren as my closest ambassador for dwarven-kind, you have done much to restore your people's good name."

Varric gave a throaty chuckle at this as Aveline also stood. She gave a deep bow, to which Alistair waved a hand in embarrassment. "I told you, we're not in Ferelden now."

Aveline levelled a gaze at her homeland's King "I bow to you, not only as my King. I bow to you as a grey warden, as a fellow veteran of the day we shall never forget, and as the man who saved my homeland from blight and who continues to safeguard her even now." A small smile tugged at her lips and she added "You'll allow me that, I hope?"

"How can I refuse, when you put it like that?" Alistair gave a jovial shrug and stood to offer Aveline a bow almost as low as her own had been. "Allow me then to bow to you, guard captain Aveline, as a beacon of strength, hope and honour here in Kirkwall. Ferelden is the sadder for your absence."

Aveline blushed scarlet and stuttered a thank you, before she and Varric finally took their leave. Sebastian hadn't seen her so shaken since that painful night when she had enlisted their services to woo a fellow guardsman. He watched their goodbyes with admiration. Like anyone, the Prince knew of the battle at Ostagar and Teryn Loghain's treachery. To learn that Aveline had been there, to know that Isabella had known Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden…he was rapidly realising that there was more to each of his companions than first met the eye. Hawke had chosen his allies well. The Maker must have brought them together for a reason and Hawke was a conduit through which His will seemed to flow. _So, _his mind beggared the question again, _what role will the apostate play exactly?_

"So, tell me, Sebastian Vael. Just what are your plans for the future and for Starkhaven?"

Sebastian's jaw dropped as he looked at Alistair. He had reseated himself on the opposite side of the table so that they were face to face. Any moves Sebastian had been about to make to leave were suddenly halted. The man's face was warm and open; there was no trace of malice in his voice. So why did his question make the archer feel so very, very uncomfortable all of a sudden?

"You know who I am?"

They had made introductions earlier in the evening of course, but he had been simply Sebastian. There was no need to burden this man with his own past, after all. Now, it seemed that the King of Ferelden knew well who he was and, for some reason he couldn't fathom, it shamed him.

"Yes, I know you, Vael. I am sorry for the loss of your family, truly. It must have been hard for you. I understand the Champion himself was the one to dispatch their murderers."

Sebastian felt himself stutter as he offered the well-practised response, "He- he did. Though, through the Maker's love, I have come to learn that my need for revenge did not bring justice to my family."

Alistair nodded, seemingly satisfied at the response. He rested an arm on the table and leaned his head into the back of his hand, so that he was looking directly at the archer.

"You've grown up, Sebastian. Not so much the tearaway lad Arl Aemon once told me about. I've heard stories of your courage and skill. So, I ask again: what are your plans for the future?"

The exiled Prince looked at his lap and struggled with what should have been an obvious response. His companions, he realised now, had always resisted the urge to question him too hard and he had been grateful for that. They were not a part of his old life. They had no firm stance to offer when it came to royalty and rule. They had accepted his choices for the most part. Alistair had no need of such subtlety.

"I…I am a priest in the chantry of Kirkwall now. The Maker guides me."

"I'm surprised that someone as wise as the Maker would ask a man as able and competent as yourself to hide away in the chantry; especially when that man's homeland cries out for a strong leader."

Sebastian's mind reeled. He would question the Maker's will? This man, who he admired so much, would question the Maker's will? No, maybe not the Maker's will, but his own will…his own choice.

"I battled long and hard with the decision. It was not made lightly. But I cannot reclaim Starkhaven's crown and risk yet more battles while I am unsure of whether my people need that or not."

Alistair's face was serious now, though not uncaring, and his open gaze made Sebastian feel uncomfortable. Little wonder that this man had commanded armies; his will was so strong it left the Prince breathless.

"It strikes me that you will never learn exactly what your people need while you sit in a chantry awaiting an answer."

The silence was palpable.

Sebastian's heartbeat thudded in his ears. This man's words were like crossbow bolts, and each was hitting its mark with an accuracy that shook his core. After hours of talking, laughing, hearing stories of battle and of heroic deeds, the chantry felt somehow very small. After seeing firsthand what an impressive man the King of Ferelden have proved himself to be, Sebastian's notion of the 'one true path' was becoming fainter. One evening with this person, this legend, was making the structure of his life waver on foundations that Anders had already managed to loosen in their time trapped underground. The two questions that had dominated his life, and that he had succeeded in pushing down over the last three years, were suddenly back at the forefront again, burning for answers:

What is the Maker's will?

Who is Sebastian Vael?

Alistair's voice took on a conspiratorial tone, as if it went without saying that what he was about to say went no further than the two of them. "A war is coming, Sebastian. I need all the support I can get."

That was one answer Sebastian knew he could give full-heartedly. He had no doubt at all as he replied "And you have mine. I give my word."

Alistair smiled graciously at the compliment, he'd become better at handling them over the years, then he spoke slowly

"The thing is, Sebastian. Your word as the rightful Prince of Starkhaven would be worth more to me right now than that of a priest."

**End of part four**


	5. Chapter 5

So sorry for the wait, guys! Things have been so busy that it took me longer than I hoped to get this chapter written. Thank you so much to those of you who added SoTM to their favourites! And special thanks to those commenting. I really want to hear people's thoughts as this unfolds...I wonder if, by the end of this chapter, you can see where it's headed?  
>I hope you enjoy part five! ^_^<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Sign of the Maker part five<strong>

"The thing is, Sebastian. Your word as the rightful Prince of Starkhaven would be worth more to me right now than that of a priest."

Sebastian Vael's heart seemed to pause its rhythm as he heard those words. That they were being uttered by the unlikely man sat opposite him, whose regal features suddenly seemed in stark contrast to the bawdy atmosphere of the Hanged Man inn around them, it just…

His mind reeled. If he was honest with himself, and he rarely was, these were words he'd longed to hear, weren't they? He had wished for someone to take this heart-wrenching decision away from him. He had hoped selfishly for a release from the burden of choice. When Hawke had appeared in his life, not asking too many questions, selflessly supporting the Prince's right to remain in the chantry and not take up arms and face his inheritance, Sebastian had felt a surge of relief. However, as time went on and as he saw the paths of his companions unwind around him, that nagging doubt had returned. When he looked upon a man like Anders and considered the good that even one as seemingly cast-out as he could achieve, he had to give pause for thought. Was this the only way? Had he truly made the right decision?

Elthina had once told him that there were many ways to serve the Maker, and that being stuck in a stuffy Chantry was not his only path to the divine. He hadn't listened to her. He had wanted to stay close to her. For a long time, she had been one of the only things in his life that made sense. He wanted to achieve the peace that he saw in her eyes. He wanted to stay close by her and, if his abilities were to be used for anything, protect her from harm. But what was he protecting, aside from the woman herself? His own narrow-minded ideal? A selfish vision of what he wanted to become? _Maker…_

Almost without knowing it, Sebastian had lowered his head into his hands. Opposite him Alistair, the King of Ferelden, shifted uneasily as he heard the darker-haired man utter a quiet moan. He knew that moan all too well. The blonde tilted his head in sympathy and looked away. He hated to do this to someone, to put someone else through what he himself had endured. Was this how it had been for Elissa, Teagan and the rest? Had his own face looked so utterly lost and unsure of itself? He supposed it must have. He saw so much of himself in the slightly younger Prince that it brought a rush of memories to the surface. While Sebastian had chosen the Chantry as his escape route, Alistair had found the Wardens. Elthina had become a mother to the exiled Prince, just as Duncan had seemed a father to the bastard son. _Duncan…_

Gingerly, Alistair reached out and touched the other man's shoulder in what he hoped would seem a warm and not a threatening gesture. Sebastian's head lifted slowly to respond and, Maker, those eyes. A surge of guilt wracked the blonde again before he swallowed and spoke.

"Someone once told me that I had a responsibility. For a little while I hated him for it. But he was right to tell me, and I appreciate now the courage it took for him to speak those words, knowing how little I wanted to hear them." A confused frown crossed the archer's features, but he let Alistair continue, uninterrupted, "And now it falls to me to be the one to say those words to you, Sebastian. Something big is coming. Bigger than any of the conflicts I know are raging here in Kirkwall. But Kirkwall has a Champion; Starkhaven does not. When war comes, Ferelden will need Starkhaven; and Starkhaven needs you."

Sebastian blinked and watched a drop of mead make its skittish way down the side of his tankard. His jaw was set tight, his hands fists on the table surface. Through the fog of his whirring mind he made himself focus on the face of the man opposite him; the man who, Sebastian was realising now, was not only a legend, but a living, breathing human just the same as any of them. He looked…sad. And tired suddenly.

"Words you didn't want to hear? Were you not fighting to win your crown from the usurper, Loghain?"

Alistair closed his eyes and sighed "Maker, no. Fighting darkspawn, undergoing the joining, facing an archdemon…that was all as nothing compared to the utter dread I used to feel whenever anyone got talking about the throne of Ferelden around me."

Sebastian shook his head. "I – I don't understand. Are you telling me you didn't want to be King?"

The warden-King let out a long breath before fixing a gaze on his questioner,

"I didn't. But your Maker had other plans for me. I would have been happy living out my days in the grey wardens, with Elissa at my side. Sure, it would have been dangerous, messy and horribly creepy, but it would have been my choice." Alistair leaned his elbows on the table and crossed his fingers into a temple onto which he now rested his chin. "But, we don't always have that luxury, Sebastian. I don't want to lie to you. Every day I find myself wondering whether I'm doing a good enough job; whether I'm living up to the hopes so many placed in me. Every day I face doubts and worry that I'm not good enough. But I know that there are people who believe in me. And, when I need them, they will stand with me and support me. I'm not alone, and neither are you."

Sebastian's expression was hard to read, but there was a definite note of sympathy creeping in. Sympathy was something Alistair had hoped never to see again in the eyes of someone looking at him. He was stronger, better than that now. But, he refused to lie to the young man at the same time as placing such a burden on his shoulders. The Prince had a right to know the truth. If he didn't have Vael's trust, his support was worth nothing. Elissa had taught him that much.

Those blue eyes now narrowed, a new thought occurring to the brunette,

"Why did you come here to Kirkwall?"

Alistair felt a rush of relief at the change of subject. He leaned back in his chair and allowed a smile to dance on his features again. "Ah. Originally to speak to Knight Commander Meredith. For better or worse, she is the closest thing Kirkwall has to a viscount right now. But on my journey I heard stories of this Champion of Kirkwall. Cortland Hawke's his name, yes?"

Sebastian contemplated the thought of Hawke's deeds making their way out of the city in story form. No doubt Varric had played a large part in that. He felt proud of his friend, proud to be his ally.

"Yes. And the stories are well-deserved, I warrant you."

"He intrigued me for several reasons. Courage, strength, charisma…he reminded me of my own Hero of Ferelden in those early days. And, like her, he seemed to surround himself with a bewildering mix of companions: A sassy pirate, an escaped slave, a Dalish blood-mage, an exiled Prince…"

Sebastian's jaw clamped at the mention of Merrill's blood magic. Just how much did this man know? And what would he be likely to do with the information? But before he could interject, Alistair finished his list with words that made the archer's eyes snap to his own.

"…and a runaway grey warden who, it should be noted, owes me a debt."

"You know Anders?"

Alistair chuckled "Ahhh, my sources were correct then?"

Sebastian bit down on his lip and cursed his stupidity. He had played into the King's bluff so easily. The blonde leaned forward once more, his voice firm. "I want to meet this Champion of Kirkwall. I'd also be very interested in seeing Anders."

Before he could stop himself, words were babbling out of Sebastian's mouth in defence of the apostate that surprised even him. "Anders does a lot of good here in Kirkwall. He…he saved my life. He saves dozens of lives every day. If you return him to the wardens…"

Alistair's eyes widened with surprise, and he smiled "Not the reaction to an apostate mage that I'd expect from a chantry boy like yourself, Sebastian. But then, should I be surprised? That man seems to inspire loyalty in the strangest of places."

The King seemed to be musing on something, gently nibbling a thumbnail with a thoughtful frown. Then the moment passed and he focused on Sebastian again. "Where can I find Anders? My men have had little luck getting a location out of the Ferelden citizens here in Kirkwall."

"I'm not surprised. The man's like a hero to them. From the way they treat him, I think they see him as some kind of saviour since Ferelden…" the Prince stopped himself. Or, rather, the hurt look to cross Alistair's expression stopped him. Since Ferelden what? Fell? Forced them to flee? Made no effort to get them back? "I think he's a link to what they've lost, as much as anything." He quickly added.

Alistair gave a sad smile and nodded. "And his location? Will you take me to him?"

A bead of sweat made its way down Sebastian's strong features. Why, he wondered, was he so nervous about revealing the location of a criminal to a proven hero? Whatever else Anders was, he was an escapee on two counts. _And an abomination_…

"I can't take you to where he does his work. It's not a suitable place for a King. But, you can often find him at…at Hawke's estate. I would gladly lead you there."

A flash of understanding made Alistair's eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly, his lips parting in surprise. "The plot thickens." He mused. "I'm not one for caring about suitability, Sebastian. I do want to visit Hawke and will gladly follow you there. But I want to see the work Anders does. No, I - I need to see it."

The archer gave a nod, and finished the last of his drink. Placing his palms on the tabletop he stood, dipping his head to the still-seated King.

"It is late. I'll meet you here tomorrow at noon. I'll take you to Darktown."

Seeing the armoured man's discomfort, Alistair tried to look as reassuring as he could. "I'm not going to steal him away from people who need him, I can promise you that much."

A nod was his response, and seemed to be the last reaction he'd receive from the Prince before Sebastian paused in his departure and turned his head so that his thoughtful profile could be seen over an armoured shoulder. "It has been an honour meeting you, and I am grateful. Forgive me if I seem distracted. You have given me a lot to think about."

And he was gone.

Alistair closed his eyes for a few seconds before standing and making his own way out of the inn, pulling his cloak around him as he did so. When he was safely away from the Hanged Man, with the night winds of Kirkwall caressing his face, he allowed himself to stop. Bracing himself against the wall of a building with one arm, he let his head dip as his second hand gave the wall a small, but frustrated punch. A shape from the shadows came forward, his voice low.

"How did it go, Alistair?"

The blonde grit his teeth and let his head now also rest wearily against the wall with a sigh "Fine, Teagan. It went just fine."

The red-headed man next to him folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow. "But?..."

His King stood and turned, so that his back now rested where his forehead had been moments before "But, Elthina didn't know quite everything it seems. Maker, this is going to be even harder than I thought."

Teagan smiled fondly and clapped a hand to the younger man's shoulder "No one ever said being King would be easy, Alistair."

"No," agreed the young man with the weight of a war on his shoulders "No, they didn't, did they?"

* * *

><p>Morning crept into Hawke's bedroom at a lazy pace.<p>

Beams of sunlight found their way through a small gap in heavy, velvet drapes and danced playfully over the two figures in the bed. The darker-haired of the two opened his eyes first, and Cortland allowed himself a grateful smile as he realised he wasn't alone. Anders was nestled against his side, one arm slung lazily over Hawke's chest, the other bent sharply at the elbow and pressed close to his own body, fingers curling softly against parted lips where his head was dipped low to meet them. His lashes cast shadows on high and worryingly prominent cheekbones, and the sharp angles of his jaw were covered with the beginnings of a beard that illustrated how little time he was able to spend on himself these days, but – to Cortland – he was the most beautiful of sights. As a ray of sunlight caught blonde hair that fanned seductively over white pillows, Hawke turned his body carefully so that the sleeping form in his arms snuggled into his chest. He allowed a hand to stroke the mage's hair and brought his lips to his forehead, where he let them rest. If he could keep this moment, remember this feeling, he didn't need anything else.

Hawke had no idea when he had finally managed to fall asleep the night before. Torturous thoughts had wracked his mind after Anders's breakdown. Champion of Kirkwall he may be, but at that moment, when Anders had been shaken and scared, he had felt utterly helpless. There was nothing he could do to soothe injuries he couldn't see. No enemy he could run through with a blade to ease a memory. He had been relieved that the mage had agreed to stay the night. If all Hawke could offer right now was a warm bed, he needed to give that much. His anger over the distance between them in the past weeks had dissolved into a hopeful sadness.

Perhaps the worst had passed? Perhaps this had been playing on the apostate's mind, and the cave-in had served to bring to the surface something that had been creating the silence, the disquiet in his lover? Perhaps Justice had now learned enough of his host's past to allow him his future?

Hawke let his hold on the warm body in his arms tighten as he looked past the blonde head and towards the window. _Sebastian, please have patience with him. Please listen to what he cannot tell me. Heal him._

"mmm?"

Anders's eyes fluttered and opened, his head tilting up so that Hawke's lips found themselves on the end of the mage's nose. The blonde-haired man smiled, his eyes bright for a moment, and then – so clearly that Cortland could almost see the thought process – he remembered. Reluctantly, Anders disengaged from Cortland's embrace and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

…And Hawke's heart broke just a little bit more.

* * *

><p>His booted feet pounded the cobbles, white knuckles gripping the staff in his hands. <em>Space, quiet…somewhere away from people.<em> He found what he was looking for in an alley below the elven alienage; an empty, dark place where he could feel completely alone. Images of Hawke's sad eyes, Hawke's warm arms, gave him strength for the confrontation he was about to have. Anders steeled himself and fell inward, facing the spirit companion whose own thirst he now knew had been eating away at his body and soul.

"Justice!"

_You slept. I'm glad_

"Are you?"

_Of course. You need your strength_

"For what? What more would you have me do?"

_You will continue what we have started, old friend_

"No. No, I won't. I know what you're making us become. I'm ending this course of action. You need to let me live my life and make my own choices."

…_I don't understand. At your hands, mages will have their revenge. The circle will –_

"Not like this! Not **this**, Justice! I am so, so sorry for what I have done to you; what my own anger has done to you. But we have stepped dangerously close to a line I am not willing to cross. Not for you, not for me."

_You would let suffering continue? Are you still the man I knew?_

"I will not. And I am. I am a man who will continue to fight, but I am not a man who will end innocent lives. And I am not a man who can cope with this alone any more. I can't watch him hurting as our path takes me further from him. I need…

_You need his love. His bed. Comforts denied to the many mages you claim you would save…_

"Shut up! Stop it!" Anders was on his knees, clutching his head, angry blue veins of light criss-crossing his skin as he fought internally. "It's not wrong for me to want that! Damnit all, I deserve that! I weep for those who can't have it, and I will give all of myself to make a world where they can…but I won't give the lives of others."

_The lives of chantry drones…your words. The lives of ignorant, blinkered people…your thoughts…_

"My words and my thoughts are those of a human, Justice! They can be wrong. I can be wrong."

_The priest's words have softened your resolve._

"No. My resolve is as strong as it ever was. But he showed me that people can be reasoned with. That people might listen. We have other options. I want to try them."

_And your human companion. You trust his sword and his tongue. Enough to challenge me on this?_

"Yes. And I won't make him suffer any more. I will continue our fight, Justice, believe me. But you're killing me. You're…killing me." His head met the cobbles, his body a ball on the floor pulsing with a blue light that almost threatened to engulf his frame. Then, the pulsing slowed, the blue shifted.

…_I…don't want that._

Anders huffed, gasping for breath. "I know you don't. I know, old friend."

_What will you do?_

"I'm going to remove what we put in the chantry. Tonight. Our fight will continue, and we can trust in Hawke to be right there with us. But we are not cold-blooded killers, you and I. We are better than that."

_I saw what they did to you._

"I know." A pause. Anders allowed himself to relax just slightly. He let his staff rest on the ground, grateful that he hadn't needed to use it. "But what you saw, that's a personal memory. It's something I need to deal with. If I let that memory fuel our anger into doing something unspeakable, then I am no better than those who would destroy all mages because of the actions of the few."

_And you would turn to your enemy for help with this?_

"You mean Sebastian? Yes, I think we have a chance to convince him of the faults in the circle with my story. I can finally unburden, and he will see, as he wanted to. I don't think he needs to be an enemy to us. Do you understand that? I need you to let me have that release. I need you to let those memories rise. If we can't make him understand, we will fail. This is a better way."

Justice was silent for a long while, as Anders let his breathing steady, straightening hair that he had practically ripped from his head moments earlier. Then the mage felt a strong wave of regret, and, for once, it wasn't his own.

_I…I am ashamed._

"No. No, you shouldn't be. My hands are to blame for what we nearly did, not yours."

_I have no hands_

Anders grinned, feeling underused muscles coming back to life. "That's true."

"Are you alright down there? Anders? Is that you?"

A shrill, familiar voice was calling from the stairwell above where the mage now sat, leaning back on his hands, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He let his head fall back so that his face looked up into Merrill's, as she leaned over the railings.

"Merrill! I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than I have been in a long time."

Bare feet carried her nimble frame down the stairs and to his side as he continued to grin, enjoying the sensations that now washed over him. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one that had been playing on his mind for so long. He would not follow that darkest of paths. He would do the right thing with what the Grey Wardens had left him of his life. He would do it his own way. He felt a sudden desire to show his companions just how much they all meant to him, how much he wanted to stay in their midst. Varric, he mused, maybe Varric would appreciate that cushion, the one his mother had embroidered…

"Do you really feel fine?" Merrill laced an arm under Anders's own as she hefted her weight against his larger frame to get him to his feet."Because, by the dread wolf, you look terrible."

The apostate broke out of his daydream to glance down at himself. His robes were drenched, tears and rips had appeared in the places where Justice's light had been the strongest. The spirit had almost ripped him in two with his force.

"It looks bad, but really – I'm fine, thank you." He smiled at the confused elf "You're a good friend, Merrill."

Merrill shook her head and sniffed "Funny, you don't _smell_ drunk. Come on, let's get you to my house. I'll fix you something to drink before we get you back to your clinic. I hope you like water."

Anders giggled, giddy from his relief, and allowed himself to be lead by the small mage. _Hawke_, he thought, _thank you for your patience. Justice and I…we spoke. And we're going to do this your way, Hawke. Your way. The right way._

Justice stayed quiet, as Anders and Merrill entered her home.

Not so far away, the King of Ferelden waited for the clock in his rooms to strike midday, his face grim. His hands fidgeted with a locket he wore around his neck as he willed his mind back to Ferelden and to his wife. Back to the reason he was here. He had to stay strong. He was a King now, after all.

_You won't forgive me for what I'm about to ask of you, Anders. But you're the only person I can turn to._


	6. Chapter 6

**Sign of the Maker part six**

"Maker, hear me."

Sebastian Vael stood on the mezzanine level of Kirkwall's chantry, his hands clasped in familiar, comforting prayer. Divested of his signature white armour, he wore instead a simple brown tunic over a plain white shirt. The only battles he planned on fighting today were those raging on his own conscience.

He had two hours before his planned meeting with Alistair and, after a restless night of tossing and turning with indecision, he still didn't know how to face the man. Even pushing aside his feelings about Starkhaven's throne, which seemed to crash against the walls of his mind like waves against rocks in a storm, was he really going to take the Hero of the fifth blight, the King of Ferelden, to Anders's squalid, dismal clinic in Darktown? And just what did it mean for the mage if he did? Alistair was a man whose very presence inspired loyalty and trust; surely he could mean no harm. And if he did mean to reclaim Anders for the wardens, wasn't that his right? Anders, on the other hand, was a force of chaos around whom uncertainty and darkness seemed to flow and ebb. But, during their time underground, Sebastian had seen just a snatch of the man beneath, and the words that man had spoken had rocked his own ideas and lingered afterwards. Fear stabbed at the archer's gut and he dipped his head low, so that his brow came to rest on the hands clasped in front of him.

"Maker, what am I doing?"

To those unfamiliar with it, Kirkwall's Chantry could seem eerily silent and cold at times, but Sebastian's ears were in tune with the gentle hum of the place. This was his home, after all, and its sounds and smells were as familiar to him as his own pulse. So it was with an air of concern that he raised his head when he practically felt a shift in the atmosphere around him. Looking over his shoulder to the entry corridor below, he felt a cold tingle run up his spine. The figure now walking slowly but casually into the chantry looked so out of place in his surroundings that it was no wonder the sisters and priests were suddenly whispering behind their hands and shaking their heads in consternation. His tattered green robes and dust-caked boots were a stark reminder to anyone witnessing his procession that the chantry's care was not extending quite as far as it should. However, it was the staff on his back that truly made his audience question what on Thedas would bring him to walk openly into this place. Sebastian noted the stiffening of the few templars present, as they seemed to wonder the same thing, and shook his own head in equal disbelief before he quickly made his way down the stairs, holding a hand up to the guardians by way of instruction. "Leave him. He rides with the Champion."

To Sebastian's surprise Anders's face broke into a warm smile as the archer approached, causing a sudden wave of what felt suspiciously like guilt to flood his thoughts. The change in the Prince's expression from anger to confusion wasn't lost on the mage, who grinned and spoke softly,

"I came here to help you, not to fight."

Sebastian gave a wry smile, recognising his own line all too well from one of their recent encounters in the apostate's home territory. Now, they were in his. He gestured with his head for Anders to follow him, and the blonde obeyed, his eyes happily taking in the views around them as he walked; seemingly oblivious to the strange stares he was receiving. For a moment, Sebastian let himself imagine what it was like, to spend your life being stared at in that way; to get used to it. He shook the thought away as they reached a more private area at the top of the right-hand staircase.

It was only as he made to sit on one of two chairs in the area that he realised Anders had stopped walking and his smile had faded. Instead he was looking at the space where Sebastian now sat with an incredibly sad expression; one that Sebastian had never seen on him before.

"It seems right somehow." Anders addressed the floor as he seemed to focus on a particular spot in the room. "that I should talk to you here, of all places." Then the mage gave himself a small shake and walked to claim the chair opposite Sebastian. He settled into it with a huff of air, placing his staff on the floor, and looked at the archer's expectant expression, allowing the obvious question to be asked.

"Anders. Why are you here?"

"To see you. You look different without all the white."

"You are a known apostate, Anders. You just walked into the chantry in broad daylight without Hawke around to shield you. Are you insane?"

The blonde's head dipped and he looked up at the Prince from underneath raised brows, a half smile on his lips. "I didn't think you'd let the templars take me. And I was right."

Sebastian flushed with mild anger "You took one hell of a risk on that."

Anders sat up and let his back lean into the soft cushion of his seat, his head turning to absorb more of his surroundings.

"Hawke trusts you, Sebastian. And I'm starting to think that it's time I did too." There it was again, that stab of guilt. "Besides, as you said yourself, I have no need to fear the Maker."

Sebastian shook his head slowly "No, not the Maker…" The subtext was left unsaid, but both men knew it was there and each drew his own conclusions from it.

"I came because I…wanted to talk to you. I was lying a little when I said I was here to help you, I admit. Actually, I'm hoping we can help each other."

A prickle of familiar suspicion teased the back of the Prince's neck and he steeled himself for what was to come. "Out with it. What do you need from me?"

"Just for you to listen."

Anders stood suddenly, and Sebastian let his eyes follow the man as he paced a little before coming to stop in front of a table in the area, his hands clasped behind his back. The darker haired man watched the robed back carefully as its owner continued. "I want freedom for mages, Sebastian. I want it with all my soul. But I haven't been thinking clearly recently. I've made some decisions born from a personal need for vengeance that I've regretted. If I'd been thinking more clearly I'd have realised something so obvious much sooner."

"and that obvious thing is?..." Sebastian's eyes were shifting nervously. This was not a conversation he wanted to have here. Somehow Anders was able to forget their surroundings entirely and speak as if they were still buried beneath layers of rock, and not deep in the territory of those who would have him dragged back to the circle in the blink of an eye; and Sebastian was yet to be convinced that such a course of action wasn't still in everyone's best interests.

Anders turned to look at the archer, his brown eyes bright with something they'd been devoid of for so long; hope. Something was very different about him, that much was obvious.

"You, Sebastian. You're the obvious thing. I mean, you're a member of the chantry. You're a part of the system and I let myself doubt you because of it when, in fact, you're the very person I should be talking to the most!"

Sebastian swallowed hard, but the other man continued regardless.

"Your words when we were in that cave, about the Maker caring for mages, about human interpretation being twisted, they made sense to me. You actually listened to me. And for a little while you even stopped judging me, I could feel it! And that made me realise that if things are going to change on a large scale, then you could be the ideal person to help me do it. You're a good man, Sebastian, even I can see that. People here respect you. If you'll just listen to me, I know that you'll understand why things need to change. You said you needed to see, to understand. I can help you do that."

_Oh, Maker…why are you doing this to me? _Sebastian's expression was stony as he stared at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees. He was aware of Anders looking down at his bowed head, awaiting any kind of response. The voice that he eventually found was almost emotionless, causing the apostate to take a small step back and frown slightly, suddenly fearing his judgement.

"You would preach to the preacher?"

The look on the mage's face when Sebastian raised his head to meet him was one that suggested his determination was faltering, and it almost broke Vael's heart to feel so utterly helpless, crippled suddenly by an inability to think. Within him raged a four-way battle between gut feeling, heart, mind and duty. And all the while he was watching the light in Anders's eyes fade into doubt, and it killed him. Wasn't this the very man whose soul he had prayed for the strength to save? And here he was, asking for help…but at what cost? And why now?

Sebastian felt trapped and torn and in desperate need of a sign; of guidance. Elthina had once told him that asking for a sign was a way of admitting that you didn't know your own heart, and that we could not always expect the Maker to bail us out of a tough corner. The Maker didn't offer signs lightly, after all.

Suddenly Anders was in front of him on one knee, his pale hands tight fists as he gripped the robes that pooled on his raised thigh; his expression determined.

"Damnit, I promised Hawke. I promised him I'd at least say it out loud. So, just…just don't say anything. Just listen. Please."

Sebastian stared mutely at the mage's lowered head, watching feathered shoulders heave with some unseen effort, unsure of whether he wanted to hear what was to come. He had said that, if there was corruption in the circle, then he wanted to know. He had said that…but now, sitting here opposite the kneeling apostate, he was suddenly scared of what such knowledge would mean. He had so few foundations left to rely on; could he stand to see more destroyed?

The words that reached his already overflowing mind were small and quiet, but they may as well have been the key stones in a dam wall for the torrent of emotion they unleashed in the archer as they were spoken.

"I was raped."

Sebastian's mouth fell open as his breathing hitched and became ragged. His blue eyes widened so far that he could practically feel them straining in their sockets. Unable to speak, he just watched the man in front of him; watched as those hands balled yet more green cloth into their waiting fists; watched as the mage's shoulders started to shake. If anyone had seen the two men now, it would have looked for all the world as though the apostate were giving confession to the priest…and, in a way, maybe he was.

"Not just me. And not just once. I…Maker…" Anders's voice was strained, choked suddenly as he gulped the air, seemingly shocked at just how forcefully his own emotions were threatening to explode out of him. He bit his lip with apparent frustration before he steeled himself to continue. "…this isn't just about me, but I need to tell you how they…what they…You need to understand."

Sebastian could see that the man was holding back a flood, and a horrid coldness crept up his spine as he realised that he was the person Anders had chosen to trust with its release: He, the man who had minutes before been wrestling with feelings about leaving the chantry to be a Prince. The man who had agreed to lead the mage's King to his very safehouse. Pushing aside his own decisions for now, Sebastian rose slowly to pull a curtain across the small area, creating a safe space and privacy. Anders deserved that much.

He saw the kneeling mage flinch at the sound of the heavy curtain on its rail, and then his shoulders seemed to sag with what looked like a relieved acceptance. Sebastian quietly returned to his seat and sat down.

"Tell me."

* * *

><p>Cortland Hawke towled his hair dry with vigour as he hummed an old Lothering farmers' song. Pulling his red house robes around him, he walked out onto the landing of the Hawke estate, stopping to smile at the spot on the balcony where he had kissed Anders good bye.<p>

Only that morning he had felt depressed and alone, watching the man he loved walk out of his bedroom as if it were his life. But, when Anders had returned just a short while later, the change in him had made Hawke's heart soar with renewed hope.

"I've spoken to Justice, Cortland. It's all going to be okay!"

The words swam even now in his relieved mind, his body feeling happy echoes of the crushing hug the mage had gripped him in as he spoke them. He had offered to go with him to the chantry, of course, but Anders had insisted he go alone. He didn't want Sebastian to feel ganged up on, he had said. And so, here was Cortland Hawke, getting ready to meet his mage in darktown, anxious to hear how his confession went, but giddy with the excitement of having him back to his usual, only slightly dark and revolutionary, self.

As he made his way down the stairs, his Mabari hound barked and wagged his stumpy tail, and Bodhan cheerfully informed him that a letter had arrived. Things felt relatively normal again. He would have felt even better if only his mother could be standing by the fire to smile at him…

Cortland shook his head as if it would dislodge that particular nasty memory, and looked down at the writing desk. The letter in question was very plain, and that put his mind at ease. Not Orsino or Meredith then, thank the Maker. The only person he wanted to save the world for today was a certain blonde apostate, who had several months of a relationship to make up to him. Unfolding the paper, the rogue's eyes scanned the surprisingly short note, wondering what could possibly be said of any import in so brief a missive. His heart jumped a little as he realised just how wrong he was.

_Dear Champion,_

_Please meet me in the Keep_

_-King Alistair of Ferelden_

His lover on the road to recovery and a visit from his homeland's King? This day was just full of surprises. Hawke stroked absently at the light stubble he'd accrued on his chin.

"Bodhan?"

"Yes, mesehr?"

"I think I'd best have a shave."

* * *

><p>Sebastian looked down at his hands. He could still feel the weight of the mage in his arms. He remembered the vibrations as the blonde man's sobbing frame had quaked and shivered in his hold. His knees were damp with the apostate's tears, and his mind was numb with the accounts he had just heard and he hadn't yet found any words beyond 'I'm sorry'. Anders, on the other hand, seemed to be a different person. Standing over by the table again, his face was a little red and blotchy, but smiling. He even managed to hold the smile as he looked back to that spot on the floor that had preoccupied him earlier and said<p>

"I killed a man there once."

Sebastian felt that if his brain had to absorb anything more today, he may just explode.

"What?"

"He had been made tranquil, despite being harrowed. Said he'd rather die than face a lifetime of nothing…I could understand that. "

"And you…killed him?"

Anders cocked his head and the smile became thin. "mmm. Him…and the templars who had set up the trap to catch me. It was the first night I met Hawke. He was here; hell of a way to meet Justice."

Sebastian dropped his head into one hand and spoke with a tired voice "The first time I met Hawke, he was carrying out my own Justice; whatever it was."

"He's good at that." Anders smiled fondly.

A pause fell between them, and Sebastian took the opportunity to stand at last, sighing heavily as he did. He was dimly aware that he was due to meet Alistair in a little under half an hour. He felt like a cog in some kind of mad machine that he could not control, which of course he always had been. Weren't they all?

The circle was broken. The chantry's own templar ranks were filled with corruption and vile behaviour. Mages were feeling trapped and desperate, and Anders's words from the cave-in came back to him again:

_When a mage is at his lowest; when he is cornered, frightened, broken and lost; when what the world has to offer is not worth having… that's when he is the most dangerous._

So much had gone wrong. This was not his chantry. This was not the Maker's protection. Elthina needed to know and she would need Sebastian to help her make things right. But what of Starkhaven? What of the coming war? King Alistair needed him as much as Anders and his cause did. And King Alistair had a proven track record as a hero…Anders was a loose cannon who, even now, could casually admit to murdering a man right here in the chantry. His obvious trust in Sebastian near throttled the Prince better than any spell could.

"I'm sorry to have laid quite so much on you, Sebastian. I suppose Hawke was right again. I'm glad we spoke." Anders retrieved his staff from the floor, attaching it with ease to a clip at his back. "I should head back to the clinic. Those lives won't save themselves."

He started to walk towards the curtain, then stopped and turned to add seriously,

"Neither will the circle mages of Thedas. Freedom is everyone's right and I will give it to them. Not for my own personal revenge, but for the sake of all those locked away in stone towers. I hope you can help me do that."

And he was gone.

As Sebastian swept the curtain back and into place, a young templar greeted him on the other side, making him almost jump.

"Apologies. We just wondered if the mage needed any guidance back to the circle after his confession." He gestured with a thumb towards the departing, robed figure.

Sebastian felt himself shudder, and he knew then that a seed had been planted in him; one that he couldn't ignore. "No. No, he's perfectly safe."

The templar shrugged and turned away, and Sebastian knew even as he spoke those words than he was lying. His heart ached at it, but he knew that Anders wasn't safe. He had never been safe. Come circle or grey wardens or his own reckless need to rebel, forces would conspire to trap him and take him to that place where mages become their most dangerous. Sebastian understood now that when he looked at Anders, he saw a man doomed, but he also knew how important it was that no mage was made to fall that far again. He would help Anders's cause. But Anders himself?...

Maybe Alistair and the wardens were the best option for the broken mage.

He had asked the Maker for guidance. And Anders had come to him to cleanse his soul on the very day that his King wanted to meet him. Surely this was a meeting that was ordained. Surely the King would take Anders back under his wing where he could be safe, leaving Sebastian to talk to Elthina about the circle. As for Starkhaven; he believed in Alistair, and he would take back his crown, but the Maker didn't give signs lightly and so to ignore the seed that Anders had given him, right here in the Maker's house, would be foolish.

Sebastian Vael walked out of the chantry with purpose. Tomorrow he would return and speak with Elthina. They had much to discuss.


	7. Chapter 7

Sign of the Maker part seven

"It was a dragon, and it was huge! I swung my sword at him and he shouted 'rraaaagh' and swiped me with his claws and…"

"Dariun, let the healer get to your side, dear."

The small boy seated on Anders's work bench wriggled and squirmed with the excitement of his tale, which was making it very hard to gain access to the nasty gash on his side. At his mother's words, the lad finally settled a little, scrunching his face into a brave scowl as the blonde man crouched down and prodded gently at the wound.

"Wow" Anders breathed, impressed "You must have really frightened that dragon to make him go at you like this, huh?"

"uh-huh" Dariun's head nodded emphatically "He doesn't scare me."

The child wouldn't have seen the sideways glance between the adults; wouldn't have noticed the sympathetic smile Anders offered his poor mother as he showed her he understood. The gash had clearly been made by a whip, and Anders bit down on his lower lip in barely-contained anger as healing magic began to pour from his fingertips and into the boy. Mages, slaves and refugees…in some ways they were all the same. All failed by the system. Where was their protection?

He'd save them. He'd same them all; one at a time if he had to.

Anders steadied himself on the edge of the counter as the healing spell ended and a dizzy spell took its place. When he was able to look up again, Dariun was leaping around, pointing at his unblemished belly.

"Look, ma! Look! It's like nothing was there at all. Is this man magic, ma?"

The mother gathered her shawl about her shoulders; placing one hand on her son's shoulder as she spoke, looking pointedly to where Anders crouched.

"Yes, dear. Yes, he is. And the Maker sent him to us. And we are grateful." Her eyes glassed over and she mouthed the words 'thank you' to the mage before escorting her son back to whatever hovel they called home.

Anders felt his brow wrinkle with a sad expression. Leaving his hands on the counter's surface he dropped his head low between his arms and took a few deep breaths.

"I know, Justice. I know."

A quick glance around the room told him that Dariun and his mother had been the last walk-ins for now. A few sleeping bodies occupied cots, their breathing gentle and steady. He should have felt relief at this moment of peace, but it was always in the quiet times that Justice's questioning voice grew the loudest. What he saw every day fuelled the anger he kept within his fleshy cage, and it was sometimes all Anders could do to keep that voice from bursting out of himself. But Justice was not a part of this world. He couldn't think beyond black and white. He didn't see the potential in people; in Sebastian. He would punish, but not give a chance to redeem, and Anders fought an internal battle every day to preserve that precious part of him that would still prefer the latter.

Still…seven years was a long time.

He pushed himself away from the workbench and stood. The room span around him as he tried to correct his internal balance before he gave up on the endeavour for now and felt for the wall. Letting his back slide down the rocky surface, he let out a long sigh as he came to rest on the dusty floor, raised knees in front of him. Quietly, he surveyed his domain and let a small smile play on his lips as he muttered to himself.

"Maker, Anders. You had such promise once upon a time. What happened to you?"

He raised a hand with the intention of rubbing at his right eye, but found his head instead falling into it, his neck grateful for the relief from the effort of holding up the weight. He was tired.

_You can still change your mind. _

"I don't want to. Did you see Cortland's face when I told him everything would be okay?" The memory of Hawke's joyful expression put a silly grin on the mage's face as his fingers toyed with the buckles of his robe. "He looked so happy. I want it to be true."

_It cannot be true while oppression runs rampant in the veins of this city_

"You're a bundle of joy, you know that?"

_I am…what I am. You can hold off the inevitable, but Justice will be served._

"We've started something, you and I. It may not be the fireworks and fury that you expected, but we've given Sebastian and the chantry a chance to answer to the problems in Kirkwall. Be satisfied with that for now, old friend."

_I am here…when you decide you need me._

Anders nodded, rather pointlessly; it wasn't as if Justice could see the gesture. Breathing deep, he felt the spirit rest in him again, retreating to whatever place he found in these quiet times. Without the added burden of Anders's own personal rage, control had felt easier somehow. He was angry, sure. He wanted to change the world, certainly, but a weight had been lifted. Who could have imagined that he would ever owe so much to Sebastian Vael, of all people?

Anders wasn't sure when his eyes had closed, but sleep must have claimed him momentarily at least, as it was with a shocked start that he opened them again and found the Prince of Starkhaven kneeling in front of him with a concerned look on his face.

"You're okay, thank the Maker. We wondered what had happened."

Anders looked around and realised that he must have been a sight to behold with his legs sprawled out in front of him, back against the wall, sat there on the cold, hard floor. He pushed a loose strand of hair back from his face and offered Sebastian a smile.

"I'm fine. I was just tired, that's all." He blinked a little and wiped at his eyes, stifling a yawn "I didn't expect to see you here so soon, but I'm glad you came. I realise I never did say thank you, which was awful of me. Thank you, Sebastian."

The brunette smiled and shook his head as he reached out a hand.

"Has it ever occurred to you to maybe get into an actual bed once in a while?"

Anders used the Prince's offered arm to clamber to his feet. Thankfully, his head seemed to be spinning a little less now, his mana returning.

"When I do find a bed, there's this pesky Champion in it who doesn't let me sleep…"

Sebastian held up a hand and adopted an expression of horror "I don't want to know, thank you."

Anders grinned, and then something Sebastian had said crept finally to the forefront of his mind.

"What a minute, we? Who's we?"

Sebastian's face was hard to read suddenly. He seemed unable to make eye contact and instead gazed at the floor. Somewhere deep in his mind, Anders felt a small cog turn as his new friend spoke, his brogue thick and heavy on his lips.

"He's waiting outside. We hadn't expected to find you…well, asleep."

Anders narrowed his eyes, stilling the spirit inside of him. "Who's waiting outside, Sebastian?"

As if summoned, a figure walked around the corner and into the clinic. He was tall and wore a cloak that couldn't conceal the strong frame beneath it. As he lowered his hood, the world slowed down for Anders. His jaw fell open, any number of stupid retorts coming to his lips before he final settled on one, breathed word.

"Shit."

"Well, that's not the worst greeting I've had so far in Kirkwall."

Alistair's jovial tone was utterly lost on the mage, who staggered backwards, his frame hitting the wall once again, hands groping at the stone behind him. He felt like a cornered animal, his carefully constructed walls crashing down. Justice was confused, but ready to leap to his host's aid, and it was with a strangled and quiet 'no' that Anders just managed to wrestle control back from the spirit before their visitor saw something he shouldn't. He regained composure enough to stand and glance towards the Prince in whom he had placed so much trust. Any hope that Alistair was here for a friendly cup of tea was dashed as he recognised the guilt on Sebastian's features. Anders looked at the archer's downturned face with hurt eyes and muttered quietly.

"Of course. Silly, silly, Anders."

Sebastian had the decency to look as though his heart might break as he faced Anders "He's not here to hurt you. You said you wanted change. I am on your side." Some small part of Anders truly wanted to believe that the Prince was right, but the part of him that was Justice seethed with a sense of betrayal that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Get out, Sebastian." His voice was quiet, controlled. Sebastian gave a worried glance towards Alistair, whose expression had become grim. Anders suspected that this wasn't the reunion the Prince had expected to bring about, but fade take him, it didn't matter now.

"Anders, I –"

"I said leave."

With a final look between the two blonde men, Sebastian tightened his jaw and nodded.

"Anders, I'm on your side, whether you believe that or not."

With fists clenched, he strode out of the clinic and left the two ex-wardens to their reunion.

He wasn't far out of Darktown when his knees finally buckled, sending him crashing to the floor as if crushed by the very weight of his emotions. Sebastian knelt where he fell, his fist slamming into ground several times as his lips threw words to the dirt.

"I'm on your side. I'm on your side. Don't be a stubborn, small-minded fool, damn you, Anders. I'm the one with the small mind, remember? Maker, tell me, please tell me I did the right thing."

He was dimly aware of the crowd that was gathering, staring in confusion at the well-dressed man taking out his apparent frustration on the stone streets. He didn't care. Mages had been stared at like they were animals for centuries. What did it matter if he was that animal now?

Suddenly he felt the close warmth of another body next to his; an arm circling his shoulders and lifting him to his feet, a tender voice speaking into his ear.

"That's an answer we'd all like to hear, sweet thing."

His blue eyes widened at the sight of the tanned pirate as she guided him away from the crowd with a snarl at his onlookers,

"Haven't you ever seen a drunk before? Clear off, the lot of you, there's nothing to see here!"

Sebastian allowed himself to be lead, words forming in his mind but not getting as far as his lips.

Isabela guided Sebastian towards the Hanged Man, his weight heavy on her arm. Her brows knitted as she glanced up at the sky, deep in thought. If there was one thing a pirate excelled at, it was knowing when a storm was coming.


	8. Chapter 8

Sign of the Maker part eight

* * *

><p>Dry lips clamped shut as Anders fixed his eyes on the imposing figure a few feet ahead of him.<p>

Alistair of the Grey Wardens, once-templar, Alistair King of Ferelden was standing in the centre of Anders's darktown clinic. Alistair was a man the mage had only heard of in legend and through his friend's wistful accounts, but he was a man whose signature had once given Anders his life…a life that Anders had thrown back in his face in what he knew damn well was nothing less than an act of treason. The mage's dreamlike state could almost convince him that he was in the fade right now and that this was all some manifestation of his own fears, but Justice's own tentative probing of his memories convinced him otherwise. Anders himself hadn't felt the world of dreams since the spirit had occupied him. No, this was real. Alistair was as real as his retribution would be, should be.

The gentle, handsome features Elissa had painted so vividly were hard set. The soft, dancing eyes she had spoken of gleamed now with a frightening anger. The Hero of Ferelden had been describing a boy all those years ago; the figure in front of Anders now was a man. A King lead here by a Princely wolf in chantry sheep's clothing, in whom Anders had placed his fragile trust. The already frail thread of hope that the healer had been spinning in his mind was now taut and about ready to snap.

Anders looked at the bastard monarch and resolved himself to silence.

"You look good for a corpse. Elissa will be pleased."

The line was spoken with no humour, and it hit as hard as was no doubt intended. Alistair cocked his head to one side as he regarded the mage curiously with narrowed eyes, and Anders felt his stomach churn. This was going to hurt. It should hurt. He clamped his jaw shut tight, stared at the ground, and prepared for words that had haunted his thoughts for seven years…words that he deserved.

Alistair folded his arms, straightening his head so that his next line had full impact.

"At what point did you flee the battle for Vigil's Keep, Anders? Was it when you realised your comrades were utterly outnumbered, or did you even wait that long before you abandoned them to their fate?"

The voice was stone. Hard and cold. Not at all the warm honeyed tones that Elissa had dreamily spoken of by the crackle of the campfire. But then, when Alistair had spoken to her, he had not been speaking to a lying, backstabbing traitor. Anders looked at the tiny rocks on the ground near his feet and remained silent. His throat was dry and his fists clenched. Somewhere within him he felt Justice squirm.

"We held a funeral for you, you know; for all of the brave souls who gave their lives that day." Alistair's jaw visibly tightened at the memory, as if this was as painful for him to say as it was for Anders to hear. It wasn't.

"My _wife _sobbed as she cradled the charred and burned body of whatever poor wretch you had dressed in your robes before we laid him to rest."

That one hit like a punch to the gut. Anders's mouth opened and closed a few times, his eyes pricking with the promise of unspent tears, but the words just wouldn't come, couldn't come. There simply were no words for this. He swallowed and continued to watch the floor, scared to look into the face of the man opposite him. Justice waited.

"She often spoke of you afterwards. Of your loyalty and courage in the face of all you'd endured. Of your unsurpassed healing abilities and spirit-lifting wit."

There was a long pause, presumably as the once-templar allowed the words, and his disbelief of them, to sink in. They did. Then Anders heard the sound of movement. When he slowly raised his head, he saw that Alistair had turned. His head tilted back a little as he continued to speak.

"When I learned of your betrayal, I confess that the image I had of you in my mind was a little different to the one she painted. And when I learned that you rode with the Champion, it was warped into something I despised." Alistair's head dipped, and Anders saw the larger man's arms drop to his sides, his fists clenching and releasing rhythmically as he slowly continued. "Anders: the man from the Anderfels; the tearaway mage who will not be tied down or trapped, not even by friendship or loyalty. Who somehow, inexplicably, manages to make his way to the sides of the most influential people around him…"

For a brief moment, Anders considered protesting. He would not allow Hawke to be made a part of his own shame. He was the only thing that Anders had done right…at least for a little while. His mouth opened once more, but then closed. What good would it do him? His actions in Amaranthine had already spoken for him. He deserved to feel this wretched shame. Cortland's integrity shone out for all to see. He didn't need a traitorous abomination to defend his honour.

Alistair's voice picked up where it had left off, but the anger seemed to be replaced by something else now, something Anders couldn't quite place.

"I had a vision of you, but the stories and reactions I saw around me here in Kirkwall just didn't add up to the cowardly slime of a man in that vision. And so I came here to see for myself. I had expected to find you in satin sheets and fine robes, revelling in the freedom that you stole…" Alistair turned back toward Anders and took a few steps closer in a fluid, controlled movement that hinted at the raw power he contained even now, his eyes finding their target and locking onto the mage's own. Anders flinched but looked straight back, unable to break away. His face must have looked as desperate and as ashamed as he felt as he saw a hint of sympathy creeping into Alistair's eyes. The man's expression suddenly softened from anger into what Anders could now see was confusion. He gestured gently to the clinic with an armoured arm as he said "…But I found this."

The King shook his head slightly, breaking eye-contact and looking to the side, and Anders felt his heart slow ever so slightly.

"Is this where you've been hiding these seven years? This is what you abandoned us for? How many people…how many Fereldens have you saved down here?"

Anders realised that this time he wouldn't get away with silence as an answer. And he was suddenly aware that Alistair wasn't the only one asking the question. Justice had believed the battle for Vigil's Keep lost at the point when he and Anders had fled. He needed this answer as much as the King. The mage closed his eyes and let his lips form words that he had only ever said to himself until now.

"It doesn't matter. No matter how many lives I save here, it will never make up for those I abandoned in Amaranthine. No matter how many souls I help, it will never balance those broken and chained by the Circles of Thedas." His own voice sounded alien to him. It was as if Alistair's being here in front of him made him see just how much of a walking contradiction Anders of the Anderfels really was.

Alistair didn't respond, but gave a small nod and moved to a pile of wood that was about the right height to double as a bench. Seating himself, he indicated for Anders to do the same. The mage complied silently, taking shaking steps towards his fellow warden and sitting slowly next to him. He forced his hands deep into his lap, worrying the material of his robe with fidgeting and nervous fingers. He could already hear the axe falling over and over in his mind and was planning his goodbyes. Alistair spoke softly, the previous malice in his tone almost gone now.

"I'll be honest with you. Politically speaking, a dead man is very useful to me; a dead grey warden mage, doubly so."

Anders raised his eyebrows just a little, turning his head slowly to look at Alistair. The man appeared suddenly as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders…it was a look Anders knew all too well. Alistair seemed to be wrestling with something, and his lip curled as if he was literally chewing over the words he was about to say. Anders's brain whirred as he tried to imagine whether anything the King would say could possible make him feel worse than he did right now.

"I have something to ask of you, Anders. But before I ask it…I have to know why." Alistair's arms rested on his knees, and he looked blankly ahead as he spoke "Why did you abandon them? Why did you abandon Elissa? Why did you turn your back on those who saved you?"

Anders released the clumps of robe he had been twisting in his lap and let his hands settle on his knees. He had asked himself this question enough times to know the answer by now, and he delivered it quietly to the floor.

"I don't expect you to understand. You may not believe it, but I am grateful to you for allowing my conscription into the Grey Wardens, and I'm glad to be able to tell you that in person at last. Even the reduced lifespan that you and the Warden Commander offered me was infinitely better than the one I had before. If I had stayed with the wardens I could have continued to guard the people from blight and darkspawn. I could have protected the world alongside warriors and friends I respected and admired…"

"So then why?"

Anders looked at Alistair, the man who had possessed the courage to kill an archdemon, but whose eyes now looked somehow scared, and answered "Saving the world was never enough for me. I didn't want to save the world…I wanted to change it."

Alistair nodded, facing forward again. There was a pause in which Anders didn't even dare to take a breath. Then the King spoke.

"Then let's talk about changing the world."

Anders gaped as Alistair stood once more and glanced around the clinic. "Will they wake up any time soon?" The larger man gestured towards the sleeping patients. Anders shook himself and found an answer,

"No. No, they're under a sleep spell. They needed to rest and…" his words ran out. It was becoming impossible to form coherent thoughts with his mind in this state. Since Sebastian had woken him he felt as though someone had literally been dangling a death sentence in front of his face like a poisoned carrot to a starving horse who didn't even know whether he wanted to eat any more. He was utterly lost now. Was Alistair allowing him to get away with treason? And what could he possibly need of a man whose life is forfeit?

Alistair looked satisfied at the response and pulled up a box so that he could sit opposite the slumped mage.

"Warden to warden, Anders. War is coming and Ferelden will need her allies. I need Kirkwall to be stable."

Anders raised confused eyes to look at the other man as his mouth fell into a lopsided smirk "Kirkwall won't be stable as long as…"

"As long as Meredith remains Knight Commander, I know. I have no control over the circles of Thedas, but I'm not blind to them."

In all of Anders's fevered imaginings of this confrontation, he had never, ever predicted this from Alistair. He felt his mouth literally drop open as the King leaned even closer, his eyes darkening.

"Tell me, Anders. Just how much are you willing to give up to change the world?"

The intensity of those eyes chilled Anders to the core. There was something beneath the surface of Alistair's features that Anders had only ever seen in mirrors. Conflicting emotions were bubbling beneath the blond's stoic exterior and some fear of whatever he was about to ask was eating away at him…Alistair didn't like the position the world had put him in any more than Anders did. In a very odd way, they were similar.

Flashes of Cortland's face, Cortland's smile danced before the mage's eyes as he considered the question. Then he pictured how tired Hawke had looked recently, how sad he had become as their relationship had dwindled. He thought about what he was doing to the rogue, what he had almost done…and he knew his answer.

"Everything."

_Everything_

* * *

><p>Isabela's private room was nicer than Sebastian had expected. His ability to make rash judgements of character based on the superficial continued to shame him, and he chided himself silently as he followed the leggy pirate into what he now saw was a haven. Tasteful furnishings and small touches, obviously added by Isabela herself, made what was essentially a threadbare room above an inn into something homely and safe. Isabela herself seemed to change somehow once the door was closed behind them. She removed her headscarf and placed it on a dresser, next to a drawing of herself with a man Sebastian didn't know, and allowed her long hair to fall naturally around her shoulders. She gestured to Sebastian to take a seat on a chair by the window, which he did silently. As he idly picked up a book from a table next to where he sat, Isabela pulled a pair of loose trousers from a chest and slipped them over shapely thighs, pulling the bottom of her corseted top so that it sat neatly over the waistband. Sebastian raised an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from commenting,<p>

"Normally people get dressed to _leave_ their room."

Isabela winked at him and flopped onto the edge of a surprisingly humble looking bed. "Wouldn't want a priest being made to feel all uncomfortable while I try to ease his weary brow now, would I?"

"Most thoughtful, my lady."

Sebastian's eyes absorbed a few lines of the book in his hands before he choked politely, and hurriedly placed it back on the table's surface, eliciting a chuckle from the pirate.

"I can't guarantee that my choice in literature will be as thoughtful as I am." She smirked.

"Is it a coincidence that the heroine's name is…?"

"No. Varric and I have been penning an ode. You like it?"

"It's…colourful."

A pause fell between the two unlikely companions.

Isabela lay on the bed and watched the man by the window and the tension in his shoulders. What she wouldn't give to walk over there and massage the strain away, but Sebastian was not like other men. The relationship between them had been made clear long ago; look, tease, but don't touch. That suited Isabela just fine. He was a good man, and she had a tendency to spoil what she touched.

"I-I don't think I am any more…" He said quietly "…a priest, I mean."

Isabela sat up at that, leaning against a bedpost to get a good look at him. This was something bigger than she had imagined. Play it safe, play it slow. He's a good man.

"What makes you say that?"

"I spent a good deal of time speaking with King Alistair. He…inspired me."

"And the Maker doesn't?"

It had been the wrong thing to say. She knew as soon as his blue eyes shot up, and she bit her lip in annoyance at her joke. He sighed, long and deep, and broke eye contact again.

"I've tried to be worthy in the Maker's eyes. I've tried to live the life I thought He would want me to. But the guidance He offers only brings me closer to Kings and pirates and those who would tear down the structures His beloved gave us. I hear their words and I believe them…I see so many things that are wrong with the world He offers, and I don't know any more whether I am worthy of being His messenger; or whether His true messages are those views being thrust upon me by others, and I am just another lost sheep. Even Elthina looks at me as if she thinks I'm doing the wrong thing. She, of all people…" his head dipped low and Isabela's heart caught in her throat. If this was the peace the chantry could offer, she'd stick with ships and deckhands, thank you very much. "… And now I've betrayed the trust of someone who needed me. Maker, the look in his eyes when I…I have no right to call myself a priest. I am a Prince and a warrior. I wear armour, not robes. My hands feel more at peace when they draw a bow than when they're in prayer. King Alistair's words have made me see this, and the clarity of it scares me so much that I – "

Isabela had moved without him knowing it. She saw the shock on his face as she knelt in front of his chair and clasped his shaking hands in hers. He could only stare back at her, his beautiful face a muddle of confusion. "So, you're a Prince. So, you're a warrior. Sweet thing, you could be the viscount of Kirkwall and it wouldn't change your foundations. You're a good man. You care too much, you think too much, but you're a good man. If you weren't, you'd have run off to nab that crown the moment it became available, preferably nabbing yourself a good Queen or two on the way – for which I'd gladly offer my services, by the way." This brought a small smile to the corners of Sebastian's lips and Isabela felt encouraged to continue "I think you put too much pressure on your Maker and don't give yourself enough credit. We all see it in you, and we all see your potential to be something amazing. Whether it was a priest or a Prince, we'd support you as long as we knew it was what you wanted. For what it's worth, I was rooting for Prince."

"Only my _potential_ to be something amazing? I like to think I'm pretty amazing already." Sebastian chuckled, obviously not believing the joke himself, and Isabela fought back a sudden urge to fall forwards and into his arms. She wanted so badly to hear that voice speak her name softly. She wanted to hear it cry out huskily in the throes of…What was happening to her? Abruptly, she let go of his hands and stood, running a hand through her loose hair as she forced her heartbeat to steady.

"So, you took Alistair to see our renegade mage?"

Sebastian's head snapped up "How did you?..."

Isabela relaxed back onto the bed again, her legs crossed above her as her head rested on the pillow. "Oh, it wasn't the hardest deduction to make. A posh thing like you on his knees in darktown after a night with hunky King Alistair? Sadly, I know you well enough to assume that my preferred guess would have been a mile off, so that only left the reunion option. I take it they didn't leap into each other's arms."

"They did not." Sebastian's face was grim suddenly. He stood and turned, looking out of the window. Isabela admired the curve of his back, the breadth of his shoulders, as she twisted a finger in her hair.

"It's almost funny to think that the two had never met, what with their connected pasts. But you did just fine, sweet thing. Alistair is a dear, dear man…not unlike you. The years have hardened him, but he still leaks honour wherever he goes. He won't hurt Anders…any more than that fool hurts himself."

"How well do you know Anders?" Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, and Isabela couldn't help her eyes absorbing the way the light framed his face.

"Well enough to feel sorry for him. Well enough to like him. How Hawke handles him, I have no idea. He came to me one night, years ago. He was frustrated, longing for Cortland but scared witless of any closeness…wanted some advice." She gave a snort "Like I could offer it."

Sebastian's brogue reached her ear and she closed her eyes and smiled as she listened. "Don't undervalue yourself. He was wise to talk to you."

"We did more than talk, as it turned out. Isabela strikes again." Still with closed eyes, Isabela made her right hand into the shape of a gun and fired at the air. "I'll tell you one thing about Anders…He knows how to use that staff of his." Outwardly she grinned, but she could remember so well the mage's face when they had finished. His regret and mumbled apologies. His narrow, toned back as he had gathered his robes in shaking arms. How she had envied Cortland, to have another human being desire him so badly. She let the gun arm fall back onto the bed and had her own moment of shock when she felt the mattress beneath her dip. She opened her eyes to see Sebastian sat on the bed, his back to her.

"You and he…made love?"

"Well, we had sex. It wasn't anything romantic. His heart was always Cortland's."

"Did he tell you about his time in the circle?"

Isabela propped herself up on an elbow and breathed in his closeness. "Only that he hated it. Whatever happened to him before, it made him fear getting close to Cortland. That's all I know."

Sebastian nodded as if something had been confirmed for him. Isabela could only guess at his new friendship with Anders, but she knew that her faith in Alistair would be rewarded. He, like Sebastian, was a good man. The Starkhaven Prince now shifted, sitting side-on to her, and his hand reached for hers. The silent voice inside her wanted to melt into that comfort, but she was Isabela.

"Thank you, Isabela. You're a good woman."

"I could be a bad woman for you, if you play your cards right." Stupid, stupid.

He smiled at her, and shook his head sweetly. Raising her hand to his full lips, he kissed it gently before returning it to her and standing. He offered a small bow and spoke sincerely.

"Thank you for listening to me and for being a friend."

She wanted to lunge out of the bed and bury herself in his chest. She wanted to ask him to take her to Starkhaven, whisk her away from her loneliness. But a ship could do the same thing, and a ship was less complicated. So instead she winked. "You're welcome. Donations are accepted."

He laughed and turned to leave, stopping at the door.

"You know…you look good in clothes. You should wear them more often."

"From anyone else I'd take that as an insult."

"It's not meant to be."

"I know."

They smiled at each other and he was gone.

Isabela stared at the ceiling and frowned. No, she thought. No, Sebastian wasn't the storm. He was calm waters, maybe a wind moving the dark clouds together, but not the storm. Alistair was a powerful force, for sure, but his sweet nature that she remembered so well still shone through. He was a King now, but one who would act in the best interests of everyone, she knew that…that only left Anders.

Anders was the storm.

* * *

><p><em>Hi , guys! SO sorry for the massive delay on this...I'm so busy at the moment, but this has been playing on me so much. I only wish I had a nice proofer to check over these chapters for me before I submit. As always, apologies for any glaring errors, do please let me know if you spot any! It's nerve wracking posting things without any beta readers, haha. But I hope you enjoy! ^_^<em>

_Alistair's request will hopefully not take as long as this chapter did to arrive!  
><em>


	9. Chapter 9

Sign of the Maker part nine

The quiet of Anders's darktown clinic was shattered as boxes tumbled onto the floor, carelessly knocked there as the frightened apostate leapt to his feet in shock. Now he backed slowly away from Alistair, his face a mask of horror, eyes wide and mouth gasping for air.

"No! No, you can't be serious…I can't…"

Alistair had braced himself before he asked the question, but there was no way around how hard this was going to be. He set his jaw and stood, facing the mage whose amber eyes were flitting about the walls as if he thought he could vanish into them.

"I AM serious, Anders."

"You must be insane. Do you even know what you're asking of me?"

Alistair took a breath and held it, closing his eyes and seeing Elissa there. It gave him comfort; he needed that right now. He opened his eyes again and fixed them to those of the mage opposite him, but he didn't answer. Anders's frame hit the wall behind him and he stared back in silence for a few moments, his expression running the gamut of emotions from anger to hopelessness as he realised the King's expression was not changing. Then his shoulders sagged. He looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and it tore Alistair up inside to see it. The mage's voice was small when he spoke.

"You're actually asking me to…rejoin the circle?"

"I am."

"I won't. I can't." Anders's head was shaking as he spoke. He looked terrified. Any semblance of the cheery, bright companion that Elissa had talked of was lost to Alistair's eyes; hidden underneath this drained and frail exterior that stared back at him like a man already dead. Alistair forced down the guilt that threatened to rise in him and remembered Teagan's teachings. He was a King. He had to act in the best interests of the many, not the few.

Anders was speaking again; a low mutter as he looked around him. "I can't leave my patients. I can't abandon anyone else. I can't…"

"You said you'd give anything for change."

In a flash, the mage seemed to come to life. His body straightened. His head snapped up, his eyes fixing Alistair's own with a penetrating gaze as his voice rang out strong.

"For change, yes. I would DIE for change. But this, this is not change."

Alistair was taken aback at the shift in the man, but almost pleased to see just a spark of the character the other wardens had painted. He could work with this. The initial shock seemed to have passed, and Anders stood tall and proud, a man ready to fight. Alistair took a step forward and held his chin high.

Look like a King. Act like a King. Whatever else you feel.

"I am asking you to set an example. To rejoin a circle that we can shape into something better. You can change it from the inside. You can continue to treat your patients..."

Anders gave a humourless smile that was almost a snarl "Most of my patients wouldn't step a foot in the gallows. They wouldn't spit on its forecourt. And neither would I."

Alistair tempered his voice. It was firm, but steady. How long had he and Teagan talked over this strategy? How hard had it been even for Alistair to see the end goal? He couldn't expect an apostate like Anders to grasp the broader picture any faster than he had. He had to have patience with the man.

"It will be a different place. You and I will make it so. Meredith will be gone within the fortnight, you have my word on that. The wheels are set in motion and Knight Captain Cullen is briefed and prepared to take her place." The possibility of Meredith refusing the transfer, and what Zevran was waiting in the wings to do if she did, still made Alistair feel sick to his stomach, but the statement made Anders pause, his eyes widening.

"You're…you're planning to overthrow Meredith?" There was an element of awe in his voice, but then it was gone, as the mage shook his head again and bit down on his lip. "No. Cullen is just another chantry watchdog. The cycle goes on and nothing changes."

"Cullen is a benevolent man. Your clinic continues by his good graces. You think he doesn't know you're here?"

Cullen was more than benevolent. He was strong, quick-minded and, most importantly, he and Alistair had a shared history.

War is chess, Alistair. Know your pieces well, and use them.

Anders gripped his head in one hand as if he was literally trying to hold some important part of him in.

"Regardless of how good a man he is, the circle is still a prison. You're asking me to walk back into something I have campaigned against for years; to let down the people I have fought for and alongside; to let down mages everywhere who crave freedom…"

"How is it worse than this, Anders?" Alistair's voice raised in incredulity as he spread his arms and gestured to the clinic around them. "This place is as much a prison. Dark, dusty, ill-equipped. How is the circle worse than this?"

"Because I CHOSE this!" The shout echoed around the walls of the clinic and rooted Alistair to the spot. "It's mine. I built it. No one ordered me here, no one dragged me here. It is one of only three decisions in my life that I have made for myself." The amber eyes misted over as the apostate moved them around the room, and when they reached Alistair they almost pleaded with him. "Don't you understand that?"

Alistair clenched his fists and felt his heart race. Andraste, yes. Yes, he understood that. He, of all people understood that.

"Anders, this is war. I am working to save us all, and I won't let one hot-headed apostate ruin months of planning. If you cannot do what I ask, I have another mage who will."

"Who?"

"His name is Jowan." Know your pieces well.

Anders's eyes widened in recognition of the name. "Jowan the blood mage? From Ferelden? You would work with a blood mage?"

"I'd rather a loyal blood mage at my side than a traitorous apostate." The look of disgust on the mage's face gave Alistair the strength he needed to harden his voice and regain the stronger position. He stepped forward once more. "You will do this thing, Anders, or Jowan will take up his place in Kirkwall's circle… and you will come with me and return to the Wardens. And I don't know about the darkspawn, but Andraste protect you when Elissa, Oghren and the others see you walk alive and healthy through those doors."

For just a moment, Alistair saw an intense grief pass Anders's features at the mention of his former comrades. Whatever this broken man had become, he clearly valued the friendships he'd made. And here was Alistair asking him now to give up the new friendships he had formed here in Kirkwall. But damnit all, this was war…and no one had forced Anders to become a man on the run. He had placed himself here. He had turned his back on his comrades. Surely what Alistair offered now was better than a noose? Alistair stepped forward again, pushing his advantage, as the mage pressed his back against the stone wall.

"Don't push me. Please, don't push me."

"You asked for choices. This is yours: Help me change and stabilise the circle from the inside, or rejoin the wardens. The third option should be obvious."

Anders's eyes suddenly narrowed "Are you threatening me?"

Alistair roared, moving up to the apostate's smaller frame until they were close enough to feel each other's breath.

"I am the King of Ferelden and you are a traitor! I don't need to threaten you. I am commanding you. Now make your choice."

To Alistair's horror, the mage's face did not show anger or hatred; nothing he could fight against, instead it twisted into misery. Anders seemed to grasp desperately at words for a moment and then he crumpled; his robes pooling around him as he fell to the floor at the King's feet, his head in his hands. Alistair saw those feathered shoulders heave as Anders let out a soft wail of anguish.

Fists balled tight, Alistair looked blankly ahead of him at the wall and clenched his jaw hard. Mustering templar training of so long ago, he tried to close himself off from the grief he knew he'd caused, lest it pull him down with it. He had placed an impossible choice on the man, he knew. Anders was not Sebastian. All the Prince of Starkhaven had needed was a small nudge towards the direction that he clearly wanted, and that Alistair required. Asking Anders to give up his revolution was not the same as asking Sebastian to give up the chantry. This was about removing a person's moral choice and motivation. This was about ripping out someone's core. And yet, Alistair needed him. Ferelden and her allies needed Anders to save Kirkwall in a way that only he could. If Elissa had been right about the man, he would come through. He would understand, and he would join the circle as a hero and a beacon of change.

And Alistair had every faith that Elissa was right.

Reassured in his own mind, Alistair fell into an awkward crouch, armour allowing, and placed a tentative hand on the mage's shoulder. He felt Anders stiffen under his touch and then the blond head raised slowly. Alistair attempted a brief smile. He had always been complimented before on the soothing qualities of his smile; though this was perhaps its hardest test.

"I'm sorry. I know what it is to have your choices taken from you, believe me. Don't hate me for this. We need you."

Anders looked up at him with a weary expression, as if the emotional wave that had just swept over him had left him devoid of any energy. "The King apologising to a traitor? That's new." He rubbed his eyes and frowned "The circle. It doesn't work."

"We'll make it work. I'll remove Meredith. You'll run your clinic as a sanctioned practice. We'll show mages that the circle can be a safe haven and not a prison."

"Remove the chantry's hold from the circle."

The request was quiet, but it made Alistair's heart skip a beat. "I can't do that. I want mages to feel safe and not feared, but I can't ignore their potential danger either. The chantry is the balance. There needs to be a compromise."

Anders nodded gently to himself.

"Compromise."

As his limbs unfolded, Alistair got to his feet and offered an arm. Anders paused for a second and then took it. Alistair grimaced at how light the mage felt as he pulled the man to his feet. Seven years since he'd left the wardens. Seven years of fighting a system that Alistair was asking him to return to. His body had paid the price it seemed.

Once Anders was standing, Alistair spoke again. "Listen. I know you'll need time. I don't intend to drag you kicking and screaming to the circle. I'm meeting Hawke in a short while, but…" he looked at his feet "I'd rather he didn't know that I'd spoken with you before I have a chance to speak with him. I–I know what he is to you."

"Do you" It was spoken as a statement more than a question, and Anders grimaced.

"When…if…you choose to help me, it must be seen as your own decision, or it will be meaningless."

Anders gazed blankly ahead of him, but Alistair knew that beneath that exterior his mind must be reeling. He sensed that this conversation was over. There was simply nothing more to say. He had played his hand and made his offer. Now, he had to wait for Anders to digest the news and understand that what was being proposed was the fastest, safest way of uniting Kirkwall; at least long enough for her to be of any use as an ally in the coming war. Cullen and Anders would stabilise Kirkwall, and Sebastian Vael would unite Starkhaven under his banner. All were powerful pieces on any King's board.

Act like a King. Think like a King. Whatever else you feel.

"I'll leave you for now. Perhaps I'll see you with Hawke?"

"Perhaps you will." Anders offered a slight, lopsided smile, but his eyes remained dark. Alistair reached the doorway before he turned and added,

"Seems weird to say now, but I'm glad to have finally met you. Elissa was very fond of you, I know."

"Not as fond as she is of you." Anders smiled sadly. "She doesn't know, does she? That I'm alive, I mean."

Alistair shook his head and replied honestly "No, she doesn't."

Anders nodded. "Good. I'd rather she remembered me as a hero."

Alistair gave a last look around the clinic and spoke softly "From where I'm standing, you're still a hero. She'd be proud of this."

He left the mage to his troubled thoughts, stopping outside of darktown to close his eyes and breathe the air. If Anders had been a simple fugitive on the run, a man with no ties or connections, this would have been so much easier. But he was a man filled with passion for his cause, loved by many and in love to boot. Still, despite everything, the mage had been a grey warden once. He had fought alongside Elissa and the others and, even after his desertion, had worked tirelessly towards a better world. He would understand.

Alistair shook himself and stood up straight. His next task was to meet the fabled Champion of Kirkwall.

* * *

><p>In his clinic, Anders dry heaved onto the floor, his breathing coming in short, sharp bursts. It was all he'd been able to do to contain Justice during the King's visit. The spirit's reaction to Alistair's proposal had been violent. So much so that Anders wondered at times that Alistair couldn't see that he was talking to two people and not just one. Justice could not see shades of grey. Everything in his world was black or it was white. Compromise, redemption…these were words Justice could not fathom. Now that Alistair was gone, Justice could speak freely, and his voice rang clear in Anders's head.<p>

_We need to talk_

"Yes, old friend. Yes, we do."

Where was Sebastian's Maker now?

* * *

><p><em>SURPRISE! I just couldn't wait to write this scene...so here it is! This was SO hard to write...I love both of these men, so to have them faced up against each other like this is just, well, it's painful. And someone has to come out on top. I'm not sure who did in the end. I hate that Alistair had to be so dominating and that Anders had to appear so weak... but, as we know at the end, Anders was fighting a battle on two fronts throughout the scene, so he's not as weak as he appears. Oh, why do I make characters I like so much fight? :(<em>


	10. Chapter 10

Sign of the Maker part ten

* * *

><p>He was falling. Hands groping at nothing but the blackness he was hurtling through until he felt something catch him. It was warm and comforting and it had Hawke's face. Anders turned his head to look behind him and there was Cortland, his strong arms wrapped around the mage's chest, his lips smiling fondly.<p>

"H-hey." Stuttered Anders.

"Hey yourself" replied Hawke, in a voice that Anders could quite happily have wrapped himself up in. In fact, he did. Pulling the sound from within its owner and drawing it around him like a blanket as the lips that gave it life hummed gently at his ear.

"Anders. I know."

"What?"

"All of it. I know what King Alistair asked of you. I know how Sebastian betrayed you. I know you're looking for something that will help you choose a path."

Anders closed his eyes and leaned deeper into the rogue's embrace, feeling strangely at peace.

"No, you don't. You can't possibly know."

A strong hand reached around in front of him and grasped his chin, turning him bodily - as if he were cloud - so that he was now facing Cortland's dancing and appealing eyes.

"Rejoin the circle? What was the man thinking? As if you could ever do that…" A kiss found its way to the end of Anders's nose, and the sound of Hawke's gentle chuckle was intoxicating. Anders smiled back lazily at the man. He knew that he should be feeling more concerned at this conversation, but Hawke's casual manner and loose houserobe were just…bewitching.

"I think I understand what he's trying to do, Hawke. But you're right...how could I go back there after…?"

"After the things they did to you. The things they do to so many. After the pain they caused you. Sebastian told me all of it, Anders."

Hands were gently tugging at his undershirt and breeches, deftly unlacing and pushing material aside. It felt like Hawke must have grown an extra pair of hands, for how could the two he had be…_maker_…everywhere at once? Anders closed his eyes again, letting the sensation of being utterly but gently dominated wash over him. He was putty in the rogue's hands; mind adrift. He floated, kept aloft by the gentle caresses and strokes of a hundred hands, and they were all Hawke's.

"Anders, what do you truly want?"

"I…to save them. The mages…I…"

"Forget them all, just for this moment. Tell me what you, Anders, what you personally want. For yourself."

From behind his closed eyes, the tears came. But they felt good. They felt cleansing. And as they poured, and as the hundred hands fluttered over his skin, his voice found itself wrapped around selfish words. "I want you, Hawke. I want to stay here with you. I want the circle to disappear. I want the chantry to disappear. I want Kirkwall to disappear." The voice was faltering, breaking a little "I want them all to disappear so that you and I can be together."

A hundred hands became just two again as he felt himself pulled down and enveloped in an embrace. The lips that kissed his hair muttered _sshhh sshhh_ and he felt at peace. Hawke's voice rumbled from the chest against which Anders was pressed, and it was sweet and deep and it was everything he wanted.

"Then let's make it happen. We don't need anyone else. We can be an island in this maddening and hurtful sea. Just tell me you'll be mine."

Anders lifted his head and looked at the chiselled face that poured fondness onto him. He smiled at Hawke and opened his mouth…

Then Hawke's own mouth opened. But it was not a gentle, happy shape that it made. Tendrils of thick black nothing snaked around Anders's wrists and ankles as he was jerked away from Hawke's arms.

"No! No, I want to stay with Hawke. I want to…"

Cortland's eyes rolled back in his head as the tip of a broadsword protruded from his chest, followed by the rest of the mighty blade. Blood arced and pooled in the air around them, floating in bubbles that moved towards Anders and splashed his face. He struggled against his unseen bonds and screamed and screamed. As Hawke's form crumpled, it revealed the translucent, blue figure behind it who had wielded the blade.

"Justice!" Anders let the shout rip free from his burning throat "Justice, what have you done? What have you done!"

And then Justice was on him, blade against his naked throat.

_Wake up, you fool!_

A gulp for air, a silent scream, and Anders flew upwards, hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. He sat there, panting, chest heaving, for what felt like minutes. Breath came in ragged, sharp bursts as his hands groped at his chest, twisting and balling his damp undershirt in their shaking digits. Finally his lips were able to make shapes and he muttered as he exhaled.

"Maker…what…" He pursed his lips and forced a breath out slowly, closing his eyes and willing his heart to steady. "A desire demon?"

_You are a feast for the demons. With your thoughts so confused they see you now as easy prey. The longer you hold me down, the harder it is for me to intercede. _

Anders raked trembling hands through damp hair and couldn't believe how close he'd come.

"Thank you, old friend."

His eyes blinked as he took in his surroundings. He was on the floor in the back room of his clinic. That was something at least. Had the fade's visit occurred at Hawke's estate…it didn't bear thinking about. How could he have awoken to Cortland after that?

_Hawke…_

Anders grasped his head in both hands and gave a whimper. Pulses of spirit energy ran from his palms and into his mind, making his thoughts a little more bearable. The shame he felt at his hidden feelings being exposed and abused like that was palpable.

"What do we do, Justice?"

_You know my thoughts. _

"And you know mine."

_I know that he is a poison in you. I know that your mortal ties to this world prevent true justice. I know that, until you resolve yourself and turn from weakness, you are nothing but bait to the demons of the Fade._

Snatches of last night's internal debate were coming back to the mage. His two parts had been at war after Alistair's proposal. He had been backed into a corner and that was a dangerous place to put a mage. Until the desire demon's visit, Anders would have fallen straight back onto his stubborn denial of Justice's black and white ideas, but memories of those gentle hands still clawed at his mind and his skin. He longed for the peace he had felt whilst in the demon's embrace and he knew that a corner had been turned.

Justice was right.

With a deep and broken sigh, Anders reached for his staff and used it to get to his feet. His body felt so old. So tired. His grey warden calling was years away yet, but the way he felt these days, he had doubts that his body would last long enough to see it. Perhaps that was for the best. He really did hate the deep roads.

Peering behind the dirty curtain that separated his private room from the clinic's heart, Anders spied a few waiting patients dotted around and his spirit sank. How could he help these people? He couldn't even heal himself.

No. No, he wasn't healing anyone today.

A flash of strength fuelled by anger and protectiveness coursed through his veins and he felt his face harden. Bait for the demons, eh? Well, he'd see about that. If one of them tried to take him, if one of them tried to hurt the people he loved, he'd make sure the bugger choked. He'd make them all choke. Adopting the mask of serenity that he wore so comfortably, Anders strode across the clinic's floor, offering a heartfelt apology to the waiting citizens. He had so much to resolve, but one decision was easy. He had to talk to Cortland.

He had to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>His meeting with the champion had gone as expected. The man was a Kirkwaller through and through now, but he was capable, very capable, of being a strong beacon for the city and it made Alistair feel grateful and relieved. The man who had felled the Arishok was smaller than Alistair had imagined, but his resolve and courage blazed fiercely in his eyes, and that was all Alistair needed.<p>

He had felt a surge of relief when he'd seen Anders arrive with Hawke, and could have hugged the man when he dutifully played along with the notion that the pair were meeting for the first time, though Alistair's less-than-subtle reminder of the apostate's grey warden status had clearly been taken less as the joke it was intended to be and more as a threat, if the flash in Anders's eyes and his retaliation was anything to go by. Still, the fact that Anders had been there at all was a good sign.

As they'd left the chantry, Alistair had watched the mage part ways from Hawke and walk, dreamlike towards his clinic, clearly still with much to think about. The look on the rogue's face as he watched the apostate leave would haunt Alistair for the rest of his days.

The King had spent a long time convincing himself that Teagan and the others were right. That he was offering mercy to a traitor. That he was offering Anders a chance to continue his work in safety, whether that safety came in the form of the circle under Cullen, or in the security of the grey wardens. And that, in the process, he was also building a stronger alliance in Kirkwall and the Free Marches. But, whatever security and safety he was offering, he was still tearing Anders from the Champion and from the life he'd made, wasn't he? Alistair didn't need to probe too deeply inside of himself to remember the cold fear he'd felt every time someone like Wynne would throw up the future of his relationship with his fellow warden in conversation; the utter dread he'd kept hidden that the world might break them apart, whether they wanted it or not.

Alistair sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Papers were scattered on the desk in front of him, and he felt exhausted. Teagan had of course grilled him for every detail of his meeting with Anders once they'd returned from the chantry to their rooms, and just thinking about the position he'd put the mage in made Alistair feel sick to his stomach. King he may be, but he would never get used to the game of chess that was politics.

He recalled Orzammar and the ridiculous hoops they had all had to jump through to secure Harrowmont's place on the dwarven throne. Back then, he had remained mentally separated from the proceedings. He was a willing sword arm and maybe a warm body for the hero to retire to each night, but the politics of the chapter washed over him like a dream. Beyond knowing that it would help them towards their end goal of turning back the blight, he just hadn't seen the point in the petty arguments and waste of life that was politics. He couldn't help a dry smile finding his lips now as he considered his current position.

It seemed that he was becoming the embodiment of so many things that the Alistair of years ago couldn't fathom or bring himself to accept.

Grimly, he lifted his pen and considered how to start his letter to Elissa.

The knock on the door made him start a little and smudge ink on the page. Muttering a small, childish curse under his breath, he rose to open the door and wasn't entirely surprised to see the Prince of Starkhaven stood there.

"Come in, Sebastian, please."

Sebastian stayed silent as he walked slowly into the King's room, and Alistair let him get comfortably inside before gently closed the door behind him. When Sebastian turned, Alistair had to smile as he noticed the restraint it was taking for the man not to bow or lower his head or any other such nonsense. Alistair had never got on with that sort of treatment. He was always happier enjoying a pint with the guard than holding court, and all this diplomacy on the road was making his head spin. He would also have had to be a fool to miss the subtext printed on the Prince's features. And, contrary to the image he put out there at times, Alistair was no fool.

"You're troubled. Please, sit down. Would you like a drink?"

A look crossed Sebastian's face that suggested his first instinct had been to politely decline, but then he nodded with a curt smile and gave in to the temptation.

"I…I would like that. Yes. Thank you."

Alistair felt relief flood through him as he turned away and reached for glasses and a bottle. Behind him Sebastian mused "I mean, it's not like I have to feel guilty drinking in the morning any more, right? It's not like I'm a priest."

Alistair paused mid-pour and smiled.

"Ah. You've been thinking."

"I have. And you're right. And Elthina is right. And I feel satisfied in where my path lies. I have further things to discuss with the Grand Cleric and I shall be working closely with the chantry on certain matters, but I plan to leave for Starkhaven within the month."

Alistair returned with the drinks and offered a glass to Sebastian, who bowed his head ever so slightly in thanks as he took it.

"I see. I'm happy for you, Prince Vael. You'll be a fine ruler, and you have Ferelden's full support. For now, is there anything I can help you with? You must have a lot of questions. I know how frightening this can be, believe me."

"Actually, I'm here to ask about Anders."

"ah."

Alistair took a sip of his drink and made a face as it hit the back of his throat. Andraste's ass, what had Oghren given him for the journey this time? Still, it was fortifying enough, and that couldn't be a bad thing. He watched as Sebastian knocked back a gulp of his own drink with barely a flinch, and felt a small pang of admiration. For a moment, he was the Alistair of years past, still impressed by a man who could drink. He smiled to himself and heard the chastising voice of Teagan in his head. Act like a King. Think like a King._ Drink like a boy._

"I have felt a great weight on my soul since I left you both in that clinic. Anders and I, we're hardly the greatest of friends, but I respect him, and he…trusted me." Sebastian's face twisted at the words, and Alistair felt his heart go out for the man. "I need to know what you spoke about. Did you invite him back to the wardens?"

Alistair swirled the alcohol in his glass and gazed at the movement. Then he told the Prince of Starkhaven about the deal he had offered Anders.

* * *

><p>Hawke wasn't at the estate when Anders arrived. He couldn't work out whether he felt regret or relief at the fact. The conviction he'd had on route started to ebb away the moment he was through that door and was wrapped in the smell, the familiarity of Cortland's home. Bodhan politely informed Anders of new letters arriving and diligently set about lighting candles in the windowless study that Anders had been using over the past few years to write his manifestos. It all felt so natural. So routine. So dear to him. But it was like a dream the moment before waking. It had to end soon. Whatever decision Anders made regarding Alistair's proposal, Hawke could not be a part of it. All Anders could offer the rogue was upset, loss and heartache, not to mention the threat of possession…the bad sort. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the banister, savouring the sensation of being able to do so for the last time. Bodhan had said that Cortland was due back any minute, so Anders decided to absorb as much of this place, of the life he desired so badly, as he could in the time he had.<p>

He climbed the stairs slowly, letting his hand trail along the stair rail as he did, and felt a wave of comfort pass over him as he entered their room. Its shapes and shadows were so familiar to him. His eyes fell on the instrument placed by the fire that he had played so very badly one night, to Hawke's delight. His nose breathed in the scented candles that he had insisted they start using to cover the whiff of post-battle man-musk that Cortland insisted was part of his appeal but that Anders found a little off-putting. He let his hands toy with the blanket they'd placed at the foot of the bed for Hawke's mabari to curl up on at night, since Anders had taken his spot next to Cortland. The hound had huffed at Anders for the first week or so, before deciding that actually, the blanket was very comfortable and doesn't kick in its sleep nearly so much as Hawke does, thanks very much.

This room…this room was his as much as Hawke's. His imprint was all over it. He felt the realisation dawn as a sob threatened to choke its way out of his throat. Hawke had offered him his love and his home. And Anders had nothing to offer in return but deceit and silence. There were parts of his life that Hawke didn't know, couldn't know, and yet he had held Cortland close on this very bed as he wept over his Mother's death. Anders had seen the champion's hidden feelings, his weaknesses, and he loved him all the more for them. But there were hidden parts of his own life that could very well pull Hawke down with him, and he couldn't, just couldn't, put Cortland in that danger.

He loved him too much to share his life with him.

Sitting heavily on the bed, Anders pulled Cortland's bedshirt to him and hugged it tightly, letting out a ragged breath. It had been a nice dream. A lovely dream. But better to hurt Cortland now than later. He breathed the room's scent one last time and stood.

At the door, he turned once more to face the den that they had shared for three, wonderful years and whispered hoarsely "I love you" before gently closing the heavy oak behind him and leaning back onto it, facing the landing.

It was as he was descending the stairs that the boy, Sandal, started speaking. And not his usual one-word retorts, but full and frightening sentences in a whispered, harsh voice that made Anders's neck hairs bristle.

"One day the magic will come back, all of it."

Anders stopped in his tracks, one foot mid-step. "Sandal, what did you say?"

The dwarf turned his head and his haunting eyes fixed on Anders.

"One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were."

Anders took the rest of the steps three at a time before he came to rest his hands on Sandal's shoulders, his face frantically searching the dwarf's expression for any hint of a joke. There was none.

"Sandal. What are you saying?"

"One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see."

"What does that mean, Sandal? What will happen? How will it come back?"

He found himself shaking the boy, whose blank expression only stared back at him, repeating the words that were now etched into Anders's mind over and over.

"One day the magic will come back. All of it."

With a gasp, Anders slipped quietly to his knees in front of the boy, his hands still gripping Sandal's arms. Suddenly everything made sense.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

Sebastian was right; the Maker and the chantry were two different things. Alistair was right; things needed to change…and a war was most definitely coming. And Justice, Justice had been right all along.

_You hear him now. _

"Oh yes, old friend. Yes, I hear him." Anders tilted back his head to look into Sandal's faraway expression and spoke in a hushed whisper, his heart racing.

"Maker…I hear you."

* * *

><p><em>So - did anyone see that coming? ;)<em> once again, thank you SO much for the feedback, guys. It really makes me happy. *hug*


	11. Chapter 11

Sign of the Maker chapter 11

Sebastian Vael's feet pounded the cobbles of Kirkwall as he tore through the busy streets and towards where he hoped he would find Anders. This couldn't be happening, couldn't be happening. After the headway he had made recently in speaking to the Grand Cleric, in working towards an understanding with the apostate…had it really all been torn apart by a simple choice from a man he idolised as a hero and role model? A man who had given Sebastian's own life a purpose once more?

Sebastian's mind was, as ever, cleft in two. That part of him that was the Prince of Starkhaven held deep admiration for Alistair's tactical planning and for the support he was drawing to his cause. His campaign made perfect sense, his choices was solid, and Sebastian was proud to play his part; his heart swelling for the man even as he saw how these games of politics tortured him. But the other part of him, that part that was priest and friend, that part that believed peace could be achieved through devotion to the Maker and through allowing his creations to find their own path…that part of him was on fire. He needed to speak to Anders; now.  
>Turning a corner too quickly, the archer nearly collided with a small group of elves. Stuttering out an apology, he continued on – ignoring their shouts in his haste to get to the mage, to get to the man for whose soul Sebastian felt he was fighting a losing battle. He had known forces would find a way to conspire around the apostate, they always had and they always would…but to think that, this time, he himself had been a pawn in their making… Ignoring the complaining muscles in his legs, he kept on running, biting down on the anger and frustration that clawed at him.<br>He could still see the shocked expression the King had adopted as Sebastian had reeled against the account he'd been told. He could hear vividly the sound his glass had made as it had smashed on the King's chamber floor; Sebastian's strong fingers, all too used to prayer and bowstrings, finding themselves weak in the face of this revelation. Alistair had knelt to pick up the pieces then, as if some deep-rooted shame he himself felt over his discourse with Anders had been illuminated by the sparkling shards. He had seemed grateful for the chance to hide his face, and Sebastian had looked down on that bowed, golden head in bemused shock; distressed at the decision the man had made, but unable to feel angry at him for it.  
>Alistair didn't, couldn't know of Anders's treatment in the circle. He certainly didn't know about Justice, and how the spirit had warped and twisted the mage's ideals and thoughts. His offer had been made to Anders the Grey Warden, not Anders the Abomination. It had been made with good faith in the man Anders had once been, without full knowledge of the man he had become. But it had been made…and Sebastian could only imagine with horror what it had done to the mage's fragile and fledgling sense of hope.<br>And as he had sat there, his mind reeling; and as he had explained hurriedly that he needed to see Anders and that the choice may have pushed the mage over an unseen precipice, the King of Ferelden had knelt in front of Sebastian and picked up his broken glass like a servant. Abomination or not, no one in this city was just one person.  
>No one.<p>

"Uhnf!"  
>Sebastian's mind was pulled from his reverie by a sudden and solid contact with another body. Stopping in his tracks, he looked down with wide eyes at Isabela's sprawled form. She in turn looked up at him, blowing a stray strand of hair from in front of her face.<br>"Well, when I imagined you sweeping me off of my feet...this wasn't quite how I'd pictured it."  
>"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."<br>In a brisk, smooth movement, the Prince pulled the pirate to her feet, so fast that she nearly toppled right back over before stepping forward and using a hand against his chest plate to right herself. Hands out in an apologetic gesture, Sebastian was already edging around her as if to make a break for it. He just didn't have time to...  
>"Hold it, bright eyes. Just where are you tearing off to?"<br>Sebastian looked down at the tanned arm that contrasted with his white armour, where it was hooked with surprising strength; though not enough to stop him pulling away, causing the pirate to firmly grasp his wrist instead.  
>"Isabela, I have no time to..."<br>"Sweet thing, you look like a man about to do something stupid."  
>"I fear I may have already done that. Now please, unhand me, Isabela"<br>"Not until you tell me where you're going."  
>Sebastian shook his head in frustration, biting his lip. Maybe it was wise to have backup. He didn't know, honestly didn't know what he would find when he saw Anders. What would Justice have made of Alistair's ultimatum? But then again, the last time he had approached the mage with someone else, look what had happened. He alone had been entrusted with Anders's tears and his past. With a wrench soft enough so as not to hurt Isabela, he retracted his arm and made to turn, shouting over his shoulder as he did, "The clinic. Bring Hawke if you can."<br>And then he was running. Not to the clinic, but to Hawke's estate. If Anders was still in any part the man Sebastian wanted to save, that's where he'd be.

* * *

><p>"Hawke!"<br>Cortland smiled at the sound of a familiar voice and turned with a mocking, sweeping bow towards his favourite female pirate. Well, she was the only one he knew but she was still his favourite. Raising an eyebrow at her breathless state, he couldn't resist a dig.  
>"Well, either you're excited to see me, or some other lucky sod is only just wiping himself down."<br>Isabela's face looked...odd. Different. Serious. Forgetting his cheek, Cortland stepped closer and put a hand on her arm as she panted and regained her breath, urging her to speak.  
>"The storm is coming, Hawke. Something...something bad."<br>"What? You're not making any sense, Isabela. Breathe first, talk second."  
>The pirate drew in a slow breath and stood upright.<br>"Sebastian, he was running. Looked like Starkhaven had just burned down or something, he said to bring you with me."  
>Hawke felt that all too familiar click in his mind. That transition from Cortland to Champion. There was a time when he would have resented the demands placed on him, but knowing he could help those around him, knowing how they would do the same in a heartbeat for him, the transformation had become easier. If Anders could give so much of himself every day for strangers, Cortland would do what he could for their friends. He pocketed the trinket he'd picked up in hightown; he could give it to his mage later. Right now, Sebastian needed him.<br>"Where was he headed, Isabela?"  
>"The...the clinic. Anders's clinic."<br>Cortland's heart paused, his clothes suddenly feeling too heavy, too tight for his frame. This was an altogether different click, and a different transition. Struggling not to panic, he reached inside himself for that resolve he'd relied upon so often and, without a further word, he turned on his heel and ran.  
>Anders. Anders was in trouble. His Anders was in trouble.<p>

* * *

><p>Anders visibly jumped as Sebastian burst through Hawke's front door. Surprising himself, Sebastian felt a rush of relief at finding the mage here; his hopes being answered. The man's eyes were red, his hair dishevelled, he'd obviously been crying. Somehow this comforted Sebastian. Better the man weep than lash out.<br>"You...came here to say good bye to Hawke, didn't you?"  
>Anders didn't speak. He rose from where he'd been crouched in front of Sandal and turned to face the Prince, his expression blank and hard to read. The dwarf boy didn't seem to react to Sebastian's intrusion at all, just gazed for a little while at the apostate, and then, with a smile, left the entrance hall...happily burbling about salamanders. The two men looked at each other in silence for a while, as Sebastian recalled the last time he'd spoken to Anders. The light he'd seen in the mage's eyes then had dimmed now; grown more determined but somehow darker. The guilt rose up in him again as he remembered the expression Anders had adopted on catching sight of King Alistair, and he stepped forward, stumbling over his words a little.<br>"I'm...I'm so sorry, Anders. I didn't...I didn't know what he'd ask. I understand if you hate me, but for the good of all, he...it's..."  
>"Sebastian."<br>Vael lifted his eyes to meet the mage's, and fell silent. The man was smiling. Not just that strained half-smile they had all come to know, but a genuine smile. Sebastian's fear gave way to confusion as Anders closed the gap between them and placed his hands on either side of the Prince's shoulders.  
>"It's okay. It's alright."<br>"It's okay? You don't mean that. I know how hard his offer must have been for you. I want you to talk about it."  
>"There's nothing to talk about, Sebastian. Alistair made his offer. He's...a good man. A good King. I know he only wants to do what's right for us all. And so do I."<br>Sebastian shook his head in disbelief.  
>"You're going to accept then? The circle?"<br>Anders smiled again and closed his eyes as he gently rocked his head, "no."  
>"But, you came here to say good bye, didn't you?"<br>"I did."  
>"Then...what?" Something cold coiled within Sebastian. Not the third option. Maker, not that. Flashes of the mage sobbing in his lap blurred his vision. "Anders, I've been talking to Elthina. It has begun. We can do so much good, you and I."<br>"And we will. We will change everything. But our plan is not his plan."  
>"Alistair's?"<br>Anders laughed and his grip on Sebastian's shoulders dropped as he let his arms fall casually to his sides, his face looking almost serene. Like he'd let go of something more than the Prince. "No, not Alistair's. Sebastian, thank you. You have opened my ears to words I would not have heard before. I'm..." His eyes lowered, lashes casting long shadows on his face in the flickering firelight "...I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I know you won't forgive me when the time comes. But...our roles have been set, yours and mine. We can only accept them."  
>Sebastian's eyes narrowed as his mind reeled. Something was wrong, so very, very wrong. But the mage held a quiet smile and the Prince couldn't help but feel elated at the lack of anger here. Anger he had expected and deserved for his betrayal of the man's trust. He wanted to accept this. He wanted to believe that everything was better now. His soul screamed that it was not.<br>"What will I need to forgive, Anders?"  
>For just a moment, just one brief moment, Sebastian was hit square in the face with an expression that chilled his core. A sorrow that penetrated and then was gone as soon as it came, replaced once more by that gentle smile. "Everything."<br>If Anders had been prepared to offer any more information, Sebastian would never learn it. All of a sudden, the poor front door was hurled open once again, this time by its owner. Hawke was followed by an exhausted looking Isabela, and his face was a picture of worry.  
>"Anders! Are you here? Anders! We tried the clinic and..."<br>Isabela gave a surprised glance towards Sebastian, the obvious question unspoken, but heard all the same.  
>"I'm here, Cortland." Anders turned his head to greet the rogue and Sebastian at once felt like an observer on this moment; a shadow in the room as Hawke walked slowly towards the mage, his eyes fixed on the blonde's face, his fingers stiff. Without a word or a glance anywhere else, he swept the taller man into his arms, crushing the apostate's frame in his arms. Anders let his eyes close and when he opened them, they were pained; traces of that bottomless sorrow remaining. He allowed this moment, even allowed his arms to circle the Champion in kind, but his expression betrayed the gesture, and the Prince could see it. A glance from Anders over Hawke's shoulder told the archer in no uncertain terms that he should go.<br>Sebastian backed away slowly, catching a hold of Isabela's arm as he passed her. She gave an affronted look. "What? But it just got good."  
>Sebastian gave a final glance to Hawke and his mage, a frown fixing his features. It seemed enough, and Isabela read his face as she nodded.<p>

As the pair of them stepped out into High Town's quiet streets, Isabela hugged her arms.  
>"So, what exactly was the rush about? And the wild goose-chase you sent us on? Did you even think Anders would be at the clinic? You scared us out of our wits, bad boy. I've never seen Hawke so...sexy." Her tone did nothing to aid her attempted humor. She sounded shaken. Sebastian found it hard to answer. After a few moments, he realized that he was standing dumb, fists clenched. He shook himself and gave an apologetic look to Isabela.<br>"I'm sorry to worry you. I...I'm not sure myself. I need to think. I need," he raked a hand through his swept back hair "I need to see Elthina."  
>Isabela gave a smile, doing a good job at covering up any distress his all-too-obvious concern may be causing her. "You look like you need a drink."<br>Sebastian offered a chuckle at that. "The last drink I tried to accept today ended up on the floor."  
>"What a wastrel you are, Prince Veal. Look, why don't I buy you a drink with a lid, and then I'll walk with you to the chantry? I could do with some company myself, if you'll oblige a possibly paranoid pirate?"<br>Sebastian tried to shake the bad feelings in his head. He feared for Anders's life, he feared for his soul. But something bigger had been there behind those brown eyes. Justice screamed out from behind a placid smile. Sebastian had so many questions, but maybe they were for Anders, and not really for the Grand Cleric. What did he expect her to say, after all? He had always relied on her strength, but how did that make him any better than a ravaged city that expected her to make it all better with a word? His adding to her burdens would not help. Right now, Anders was with Hawke. Hawke could reach him. Hawke would fix this. He always did. Yet again, Sebastian felt like just a small part of something much larger; like somewhere wheels were turning far beyond his mortal reach. Disconcerting thoughts and a sense of foreboding pulled at his heart as he replayed Anders's words and, inside him, he felt the familiar yearning to call on the Maker for guidance. To ask for a sign. That need burned at him...Always laying the burden elsewhere, Sebastian? Always looking to someone else to make that call? No. If he was to lead, he had to learn to rely on his own strength.  
>Looking towards the sky, his lips formed around the only question that he could give voice to right now. "Isabela. You once said I was a good man…do you believe that?"<br>The pirate glanced up at him, cocking her head to one side. Moving to stand in front of him, she reached up her hands to cup his face gently, tenderly, making him tilt his features to look into hers.  
>"I believe it."<br>"Why, when I'm not even sure myself?"  
>"Because, sweet thing…only a truly good man ever asks that question of himself."<br>Sebastian closed his eyes and sank into those words, breathed them in and tried with all his might to believe them. With a sudden rush of decisiveness, he reached for the pirate's hand and squeezed.  
>"You know? I will join you for that drink. But I'll be buying."<p>

The pair barely noticed the messenger walk past them to post a letter through Hawke's door. It bore the seal of the First Enchanter...and would change everything. They walked to the hanged man, neither one with any idea that the pirate had just saved the Prince's life.

* * *

><p>"Cortland...let me go. Please."<br>As if it hurt him to do so, Cortland Hawke pulled reluctantly back from his mage and searched that face with questioning eyes. Now that everything seemed still, he felt slightly foolish for charging in here like a lovesick idiot. What was it about this man that could reduce him to a quivering wreck? When he and Isabela had failed to find Anders at the clinic, Hawke's imagination had run wild. He'd run to the mansion in a panic, in desperate hope of finding the healer there; every step taking too long. Without even knowing why Sebastian had been worried, he had acted like a madman. It only served to remind him again of just how frighteningly, powerfully, he was drawn to the mage. Since the day he'd first seen him, he'd wanted him. And even now, despite the coldness, the quiet times, the silences, he lived for those moments in between. Those briefest of smiles, those kisses stolen before Justice had a chance to intercede. Because he had to tell himself that it was Justice and not Anders himself who brought the shadows. There was a time when Anders had needed him in the same way; had trusted him. A time when he had faced the darkest of fears just to stay at Cortland's side. Now, all Hawke saw in front of him was a precious gem that he apparently couldn't afford.

"What's wrong? Sebastian was worried. What did the King say?"  
>Warmth covered his right hand suddenly as Anders took hold of it and brought it to his lips. Cortland allowed himself a shudder as he felt the feather touch of the mage's mouth on his skin, though all the while his heart felt like it was being strangled.<br>"Cortland, you have been the one, bright light in my life. You know that, right?"  
>Hawke swallowed and gulped out "...but?"<br>"But I cannot ask you to stay by my side any longer."  
>The rogue shivered, feeling the sturdy floor of the mansion opening up beneath him.<br>"I once told you I wasn't going to let you go. What makes you think I would do so now?"  
>"Because this time, I'll be the one letting go. You have done nothing wrong. I only ask that you let me leave, and that you try to forgive me for what will come. Remember the man I was."<br>Cortland couldn't stop his hands reaching out, entwining themselves in the front of Anders's robe, gripping the material there as if he feared it would vanish, along with the body wearing it.  
>"No. No...you don't mean that. You can't..."<br>"Cortland. Hawke. Please." The mage's expression cracked a little, his brow furrowing. He bit down hard on his lip and pried Hawke's hands away. Cortland could only gape, his mouth working with no sound as his wrists were held gently by the man he loved, adored, lived for. "Please don't make this harder."  
>Suddenly words came easily to Hawke. "Harder for who? Harder for who, you bastard? Tell me why. You owe me that at least."<br>Anders flinched at the angry tones. Good. He bloody well should. Cortland geared himself up to say as much, but before he could, his mouth was covered as the mage's lips collided with his own. All thoughts fled the rogue's mind as he let himself sink into the sensation, savouring the warmth, the comfort as lips parted and hot breath mingled. Crushing himself as close to his love as he could, he freed his hands and wrapped his arms around Anders's body as it in turn pushed against him with a hunger he had missed so much it hurt. He wasn't sure when the tears had started to fall, or when they had coursed with Anders's own. Somewhere along the line the kiss had become a good bye, he knew it, and he didn't want it to end. With a hurt and broken sigh, Anders finally pulled away, wiping at his tears roughly with a sleeve, steeling his features to see this through. One last kiss was placed upon Cortland's forehead, so tender that it forced a choked sob from the rogue as he closed his eyes.  
>"I love you. I love you. I'm sorry."<br>"Anders...don't..."

But Anders was gone.

Cortland Hawke wrapped his arms around his shaking frame, leaned his back to the wall and sank slowly down to his knees. His mouth opened and closed in silent grief, unable to voice his feelings. The trinket he had bought the mage that afternoon jabbed into his thigh from its position in his pocket, and Hawke relished the small pain. Anything to distract him from this. From the weak, fragile thing he had become. He was still there on the floor when Bodhan approached him with a letter in hand, his kindly face filled with concern.  
>"Messer? I'm so sorry, I am. Only this letter...it's quite urgent I think. It's from First Enchanter Orsino and..."<br>Hawke looked at the dwarf, his cheeks wet.  
>"And what, Bodhan?"<br>"Well, going by the shouts I just heard out in the street, this letter may already be too late."

Cortland stemmed his tears and used the wall behind him to stand. He fixed his expression and felt that click. The transition from Cortland to Champion. And, this time, he didn't only accept it...he was glad of it.

* * *

><p><em>Phew! finally. Blimey this has been hard to write. I'm sorry it took so long, guys. This is the PENULTIMATE part of Sign of the Maker! Just one more chapter to come and, well, as you can guess - it's going to be a doozy to write! haha.<em>

_Not that I don't have - erm - plans for after that, but I'll focus on finishing this one first!_


	12. Chapter 12  FINALE

Sign of the Maker chapter twelve

* * *

><p>So it had come to this. All of the tears, patience, words and hopes. It had all come down to a few brief moments in time that would change the world.<p>

A silence.

A judder of the earth beneath them.

A red beam of light, piercing the heavens and parting the swirling clouds.

A silence; one that hung heavy and thick like foam atop the peak of a wave just before the crash.

A resounding explosion that would haunt those within earshot of it for the rest of their days.

And an awful, awful silence.

* * *

><p>It was broken by a breathy exclamation from Meredith, but Sebastian's ears didn't, wouldn't, hear her. They didn't care what she had to say. They didn't care what anyone had to say any more.<p>

The tanned arms that circled his chest from behind had been the only things stopping him from hurtling towards the eery red flames and into the jaws of oblivion as the ground had shaken. He would gladly go there if it meant he could bring Elthina back from it.

"And just how is you running in there going to help anyone?"

Isabela's voice was hard, strong, and he was shamed by it. Bile rising to his throat as red ashes danced around them, he choked suddenly and slipped to his knees with an anguished cry. Maker, hear me! Maker, hear me...hear me, you bastard, hear me. What have you done? What have you allowed? Why?

A personality he hadn't felt for many years was rising in him, unbidden. Like another him, long forgotten, it clawed at his senses, it screamed to be set free. Is this what possession felt like? Sebastian knelt there on the stone floor, oblivious to anything around him, as the grief and sorrow were slowly consumed and absorbed by his darker, harder parts. Disbelief begat fury, sorrow gave way to bitterness, shock became bile. His face changed and it felt good. He leaned into the rising anger and allowed it to fuel him. One drink in the Hanged Man had been the difference between his being here now, and his being just another charred corpse in the raging furnace before them; a charred corpse like Elthina…the woman he had looked upon as a mother. The personal mixed with the wider pain as his blood boiled and his mind raged. Slowly he started to become aware of voices around him. There had been a fight. Templars lay bleeding around them as several of his companions heaved heavy breaths and looked amongst themselves in a state of numb disbelief. No numbness for Sebastian; not yet. The archer's eyes crawled towards the one figure that was not standing, whose face did not display the same shock and horror as the others. The figure that was sat, motionless, on a discarded crate. His eyes gazed blankly ahead, his hands rested on his knees, and his face wore no expression at all.

Anders.

Sebastian slowly clambered to his feet, a grimace twisting his features. He started to take slow, laboured steps towards the man he had, Maker help him, wanted to save. To SAVE. The man he...the man Elthina had...His head was heavy with the turmoil of thoughts and emotions, and so he closed them down, shut them off and focused only on the dominant. Anders had murdered Elthina. Anders had reduced his chantry, his home, to rubble. Anders had betrayed his trust, Alistair's trust...Hawke's trust.

Hawke. Where was Hawke?

Through the fog of his anger, Sebastian realised that someone else had reached the silent apostate before him. The Prince stopped in his tracks as he saw the expression on the man's features. Sebastian Vael hadn't believed that anyone else could hurt in that moment the way he himself was hurting. He hadn't believed it...until he saw Cortland's face.  
>Clenching his fists and shutting his jaw tight, Sebastian stood by and allowed his consuming anger to swirl up within him. Hawke was the only person with more right than he to approach the murdering mage. Sebastian would let him say his good-byes.<p>

* * *

><p>Maker's balls, her arms hurt. Isabela winced a little as she stroked the scratches and blossoming bruises that adorned her forearms. Even now she wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed to hold the trembling Prince back at all; his strength had been overwhelming. But the urgency, the terror of the situation had fuelled her somehow; given her that fabled rush of adrenaline that she'd heard the washer women of Rivain talk about. That inner reserve that made Mothers become gods when it came to saving their children. And why exactly had that instinct kicked in, Isabela wondered to herself? Blowing gently and sending a small ash cinder dancing in front of her, the pirate's eyes found Sebastian. He was kneeling amongst the chaos, eyes staring, mouth open. He looked...defeated, and it hurt. It hurt because what she had been holding back from the flames wasn't just a man, but an idea. Sebastian Vael represented what they could all be. What she could be. He was a man of ideals who believed in people and in heroes, and Isabela needed to know that his way could work. Silently she willed him to fight and to overcome this. If not for himself, for everyone who looked to him as an inspiration; whether they voiced it or not.<p>

As he slowly rose to his feet, she shivered and let her line of sight follow his until it came to rest on the scene she'd been unconsciously trying to ignore. Cortland Hawke was slowly approaching the still, hunched figure that Anders had become, and Isabela had run out of wit.

Anders looked as defeated as Sebastian did. While the apostate had become the focus of the storm, of the hate and anger that swept around them all, Isabela could bring herself to feel neither when she looked at his bowed head. His hair fell forwards, concealing his face from her, but she didn't need to see it to know how it would look. She had probably worn a similar expression as she had fled Kirkwall with the Qunari tome safely in hand, knowing that her actions had doomed so many. She had been able to turn around, of course. There was no turning around for Anders. Not now. The slumped shoulders, the sunken head, the wringing hands. This was not a man proud of what he'd done. This was a man defeated and cornered; forced to play his last hand.

And what a hand it had been.

Looking away from him and at the smouldering remains of the chantry, Isabela felt acutely that their little group were right now in the eye of a storm. A vast storm that would blow over Thedas and change it forever. There was going to be no turning around for anyone any more. Her eyes passed over her companions, from Aveline's wide-eyed horror, to Merrill's shocked sadness, Varric's gaping wonder and Fenris's dark hate. They would all be picking sides, sooner or later. It had been fun, while it lasted.

Sebastian was shouting.

Isabela's head whipped back to where the three main players were gathered. Anders was still seated, his back to the two arguing men, as if it wasn't his very life that they were fighting over.

"...that there'll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule."

Sebastian's voice. His words...this wasn't him speaking. This was his hatred, his anger.

"Do not interfere, Sebastian!"

Hawke's shout silenced the Prince, but only momentarily. Isabela caught Sebastian's glance at the feathered shoulders behind Hawke, saw a flash of deepest regret and sorrow, before his face hardened again. With an expression that held hurt and anger in equal measure, Sebastian flicked his eyes briefly between Hawke and Anders before he leaned in towards Cortland's steel gaze.

"I won't fight you, Hawke. My death now will mean nothing. But..." And just like that, the hurt disappeared, leaving only venom "I swear to you, I will come back and find your precious Anders. And I will teach him what true justice is."

If the line had been meant to affect the mage in any way, Sebastian was to be disappointed. Anders did not move, did not flinch. Did not turn and watch as the Prince span on his heel and walked out of the square. Merrill gave a small whimper as he strode past without so much as a good-bye, the others watched him go with a mixture of sad and shocked expressions. No one could completely disagree with him, not after this. But no one was about to follow either; not quite believing the darkness they had just seen in their white knight. Isabela saw Fenris flinch as if holding himself back. Of all of them, perhaps he had felt the Prince's departure most keenly. She herself fought an urge to run after him, to pull him back. But back to what? He had no place here.

She was forced back to the drama at hand by a guttural cry. Hawke's cry.

Eyes widening, Isabela took in the scene before her. Anders was standing now, facing Cortland. He had both hands clamped firmly around Hawke's, and Hawke's in turn were wrapped around the handle of one of his daggers, the vicious blade tip of which sat squarely pointed at Anders's bared throat. Each man seemed to wrestle with both the physical and the unseen as they looked into each others' eyes in a deadlock. It was hard to tell from looking whose hands were doing the leading, but as soon as Anders found his voice, it became clear. It rang out oddly amongst the dancing ash, as if it had never expected to be used again.

"Don't you understand? Forgiving me means nothing! You have to end this now, before there's nothing of me left to kill. Please!"

There was a struggle as both sets of hands pushed and pulled, teeth gnashed and faces grimaced. Then, overcoming the taller man, Cortland managed to hurl the blade away, sending it clanging to the ground. Anders watched it skid and slide along the cobbles with a look of pure horror on his face as Hawke took a few faltering steps back.

Cortland's chest heaved, and Isabela could not even begin to put herself in his position right now. This was too cruel on them all. Too cruel.

"Who said anything about forgiving you?" the champion spat out, "It's your life, throw it away if you will, but do not ask me to be the one to take it. Do not ask this of me, Anders."

There was a pained pause and then, with a sudden cry and a jerked movement, Anders was on his knees, grabbing up the blade in his shaking hands and tipping his head and shoulders forward over it. Again, his hair obscured his features, and this time Isabela was grateful for that small mercy. What expression can a man make as he faces death like this?

All eyes were on the hunched mage as his quivering form huddled over the knife's point. Isabela let her mind recount flashes of the man when he was healing, smiling, talking about his blighted cat...Cortland's hands were twitching madly at his sides, as if it was taking every fibre of his being not to run over to Anders and stop him, but he stood by, just as they all did.

Before Isabela's eyes, the healer twitched and moaned as he wrestled with the blade in his hands until, finally, his body convulsedand an angry blue glow enveloped his form with a flash. Again, metal met stone as the blade was thrown...this time by Anders's own hands.

Justice, it seemed, was not ready to let his host die yet.

The clash was followed by a sound that chilled Isabela's heart. It started as a sob, a choke, before it grew louder and heavier and she realised it was coming from the mage. As the sound grew, Anders leaned forward on his knees, his neck stretched out as the guttural moan forced its way out of him. Then, as it climaxed, he threw back his head and let it fly. His arms hung loosely at his sides, hands trailing on the ground, as his throat opened up and shouted to the heavens. It was a primal cry, a wrenched scream of pure anguish, one like Isabela had never heard, and nor had anyone else going by the frightened looks on their faces.

It was too much for Cortland, it seemed.

In an instant he was on his knees, covering the man, stroking his damp hair, attempting to steady the quaking form in his arms.

"I know, I know..." He was saying, over and over.

Anders growled and spat and flailed in his hold, as if trying to push him away, but Cortland held firm, and soon the hands that pushed at him seemed to clutch instead, fingers that scratched at skin soon gripped at material.

Gradually, the wail diminished into heaving sobs and Anders fell forwards onto Cortland's arm, grasping it as tears coursed his cheeks.

"Why won't you just...let me go?"

Cortland Hawke didn't offer an answer. Isabela wondered if he knew it himself. He just held the mage tightly as the city around them erupted into chaos.

* * *

><p>Sebastian wasn't sure how much time had passed since he had left the square. He wasn't even sure where he was headed. He had walked, shade-like, through streets of screaming children and crying adults. Ash smeared his cheeks and his steps were heavy and laboured. To an observer his eyes looked cold, dead, not a whisper of the turmoil within showing through on his fixed expression. It meant that his would-be attackers were getting a shock when his hands would flash out and the opportunistic bandits found themselves bleeding. He hadn't drawn his bow and had chosen instead to fight his way through the crowds with twin daggers, too long forgotten. His rogue reflexes and skills flooded back into him as he sliced and whirled and ripped through flesh, savouring the warmth, the closeness of taking a life with a blade. But it was the taking of just one life that powered his thoughts underneath those glazed, blue eyes.<p>

Why? Why had he not simply loosed an arrow into the mage's twisted head there and then?

Why had he said such awful, threatening things about a city at large when really, all he needed to do was reach around and slice the damned apostate's throat? He couldn't kill him because…because…

_You're a good man, Sebastian._

How many times had he heard those words and revelled in them?

How much he doubted them now.

Maker…

And why, why was that name still on his lips? The Maker had failed him. Had failed Elthina. Had failed Kirkwall. Thedas was alone and deserted. Doomed to find its own, broken, bloody way…

"NO!"

The strength of his own shout took him by surprise. A few beggar-children who had been sneaking up close to steal a purse from the crazy-but-rich-looking man squealed at the noise and ran. Sebastian watched them go and slowly, slowly sheathed his blades. The sound of his shout had somehow pierced through his dreamlike state, and now he let his back fall heavily against stone as his head tilted upward. His eyes saw flames, his ears heard screams. Try as he might, he could not cancel them out. Finally, slowly, his mind started to piece together the events that had lead him to this moment.  
><em>We each have our part to play, you and I.<em>

_Our plan is not his plan…His plan._

Was Anders even alive now? He didn't know.

Sebastian closed his eyes. Were they really so alone? Or was this, this chaos, this destruction, was this truly the sign he'd been asking for? His mind's eye remembered Anders's face back at Hawke's estate; remembered that open smile. It was the same kind of smile Sebastian had started to wear back when he truly felt he belonged in the chantry. It was a smile that said 'I have a purpose. I have a meaning. He has shown me this'. Dear Maker…no.

A shiver took hold of the Prince and he sank slowly down into a crouch, ignoring the screams of a nearby mage as she transformed into demon form and was cut down by three frightened looking templars. One of them threw a glance at the man in white armour before they were on their way again, leaving only a corpse and flames behind. Sebastian's eyes remained closed, but his lips started to move…a mutter at first.

"Maker. Is this?...Is this your sign? Is this your plan? Or am I simply going insane?"

The sound grew in strength, in courage, as Sebastian Vael rose to his feet, directing his voice and gaze towards the heavens. "This is not what I wanted. I don't even believe that this is what Anders wanted. This is what YOU wanted, isn't it? We are all playing pieces in your mighty game, oh, Maker. Was he your instrument then? Was he even the endgame…or was he just another messenger for your unspoken goals?"

Sebastian threw his arms wide, hands open, palms towards the sky, and bellowed. "Well, here I am! Strike me down now and be done with it. Isn't that how you treat those who cared for you?"

When nothing but the crackle of flames answered him, Sebastian let his arms fall back down. He dropped his head and looked at the burning corpses around him; listened to the screams of Kirkwall as his pulse raced.

Sebastian did not lift his head, only his eyes this time. Peering through thick brows at the darkening sky he clenched his fists in an act as far from bringing them together in prayer as he could manage. His voice was strong and defiant as his words rang out between heavy breaths.

"Maker, I hear you. I hear you and I obey. You want a war?..." He pointed upward with one finger, jabbing at the sky "I will give you a war! A war like Thedas has never seen, and it will be in your name, Maker. Yours!"

It was done.

Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, was going to reclaim his Kingdom.

And Maker help anyone who got in his way.

* * *

><p><em>Oh my goodness, it's done! That was hard to write - very hard. I hope it satisfies! My aim with the story was to offer some different perspectives on the end of the game...nothing contrasting the plot, but hopefully adding new levels to it. I hope it worked. Thank you SO much for following. It's meant so much. *hug* I utterly appreciate any comments and reviews and they make me leap with joy. Thank you again. So much ^_^<em>


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